宗峰妙超 Shūhō Myōchō (1282–1337), aka 大燈国師 Daitō Kokushi

Eloquent Zen: Daitō and Early Japanese Zen by Kenneth Kraft, University of Hawaii Press,
Honolulu, 1992.

ELOQUENT ZEN
DAITŌ AND
EARLY JAPANESE ZEN
Kenneth Kraft

UNIVERSITY OF HAWAI'I PRESS HONOLULU

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© 1992 by Kenneth Kraft

All rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America

Paperback edition 1997

97 98 99 00 01 02 5 4 3 2 1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Kraft, Kenneth, 1949—

Eloquent Zen: DAITŌ and early Japanese Zen / Kenneth Kraft.

p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 0-8248-1383-9 (alk. paper)

1. Myōchō, 1282-1337. 2. Priests, Zen— Japan—Biography.

I. Title.

BQ972.Y587K7 1992
294.3'927'092—dc20
[B] 91-44864
CIP

ISBN 0-8248-1952-7 (pbk)

University of Hawai'i Press books are printed

on acid-free paper and meet the guidelines for
permanence and durability of the Council on Library Resources

1
 Designed by Ken Miyamoto

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CONTENTS
Illustrations vi
Acknowledgments vii
1 Entering the World of Daitō 1
2 Japan in the Early Fourteenth Century 10
3 Daitō's Early Zen Training 26
4 The Foundations of Japanese Zen 48
5 Daitō Ascendant at Daitokuji 64
6 Enlightenment and Authenticity 83
7 Clarifying the Essentials of Zen 95
8 Daitō's Zen: The Primacy of Awakening 113
9 Capping-Phrase Commentary in the Works of Daitō 130
10 "His Tongue Has No Bones" 151
11 Daitō's Impact 168
12 Translations 186
Appendixes
I. The Daitō Corpus 209
II. Characters for Capping Phrases Cited 214
III. Location of Capping Phrases Cited 217
Notes 219
Glossary 241
Bibliography 249
Index 257

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ILLUSTRATIONS
1. Daitō's two enlightenment verses 40
2.Daitō as a beggar, by Zen master Hakuin 44
3. Proclamation from Emperor Hanazono 80
4. Portrait of Daitō 127
5. Daitō's death verse 170
6. Portrait of Daitō 185

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am deeply grateful to the many people who contributed to this book. Yanagida Seizan
patiently guided my initial work on primary texts. Hirano Sōjō suggested new directions
through his own research. Kobori Nanrei, Ozeki Sōen, Matsunaga Gozan, and other abbots of
Daitokuji temple graciously provided access to Daitokuji's archives. Martin Collcutt and
Marius Jansen contributed scholarly expertise and enthusiasm to every phase of the project.
Stephen Berg assisted with translations of poetry, and Alan Sponberg helped to focus my
attention on issues of interpretation. Sōhō Machida generously shared his first- hand

2
knowledge of monastic Zen. Sōgen Hori commented astutely and at length on several
versions of the manuscript. Trudy Kraft offered steady encouragement and sound advice, as
always.

I am indebted to the Japan Foundation for providing two opportunities to conduct extended
research in Kyoto. A fellowship from the Edwin O. Reischauer Institute for Japanese Studies,
Harvard University, supported further work on the manuscript.

Grateful acknowledgment is made to Daitokuji for permission to reproduce two portraits and
three calligraphic works from the temple archives; and to the Eisei Bunko Foundation for
permission to reproduce a portrait of Daitō by Zen master Hakuin.

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1
ENTERING THE WORLD
OF DAITŌ

A great man of the past is hard to know, because his legend, which is a sort of friendly
caricature, hides him like a disguise.... And when a man is so great that not one but half a
dozen legends are familiar to all who recognize his name, he becomes once more a mystery,
almost as if he were an unknown.

JACQUES BARZUN*

His eyes glare angrily. His mouth turns down in scowling wrath. He is an enemy of buddhas
and patriarchs, an arch-enemy of Zen monks. If you face him, he delivers a blow. If you turn
from him, he emits an angry roar. Bah! Who can tell whether the blind old monk painted here
is host or guest? But never mind that, Inzen. Just bow to the floor before your mind begins to
turn.

DAITŌ, on his portrait**

According to the Zen lore of medieval Japan, when a young monk named Myōchō attained
enlightenment, he was told by his teacher to ripen his understanding in obscurity for twenty
years. Myōchō went to the capital, Kyoto, and joined the crowd of beggars living along the
banks of the Kamo River, near the Gojō Bridge. Barefoot and unshaven, wearing only a
tattered robe and a cloak of rough straw, he endured the cold and hunger of twenty winters as
his insight deepened. Rumors about an uncommon mendicant began to circulate, even within
the walls of the imperial compound. One day the Emperor himself went down to the riverbank
to investigate. When he challenged the assembled beggars with a paradoxical command, one
of them boldly rephrased the paradox and tossed it back to the Emperor. Myōchō's identity
was thereby revealed. The Emperor became the monk's patron and personal disciple, and
together they proceeded to build a great Zen temple.

-1-

Remarkably, many elements of this tale have a historical basis. Myōchō ( 1282-1337), better
known by his honorary title Daitō, is one of the most important figures in Japanese Zen. The

3
exhortation to pursue twenty years of postenlightenment cultivation survives on a scroll
written by his teacher. Daitō did train in relative seclusion for at least ten years at a small
Kyoto temple in the vicinity of the Gojō Bridge, and several contemporary scholars continue
to believe that he spent at least some of his time among the beggars in the area. 1 Not just one
but two emperors, Hanazono ( 1297-1348) and Go-Daigo ( 1288-1339), actively supported
Daitō, and Hanazono became a serious student of Zen. Daitokuji, the temple that Daitō
founded with his patrons' assistance, remains influential today.

Daitō appeared at a critical point in the development of Japanese Zen, as leadership was
passing into the hands of native Japanese monks. During the preceding hundred years, Ch'an
(Chinese Zen) had been brought to Japan by Japanese pilgrims and émigré Chinese masters.
Daitō's own teacher Nanpo Jōmyō ( Daitō Kokushi, 1235-1308) trained in China for eight
years, yet Daitō never attempted the trip himself. Like others of his generation, he believed
that authentic Zen could also be found in Japan. This newfound confidence was expressed in a
fellow monk's pronouncement that sending Japanese pilgrims to China for spiritual guidance
was like "trading Japanese gold for Chinese gravel." 2

Daitō not only reflected the cultural and spiritual ethos of his era; he also had a lasting impact
on the development of Zen. Among the Zen monks who did not travel to China, he was the
first to establish a major monastery. In his teachings he clarified the essential components of
an assimilated Japanese Zen. He took the lead in applying an unfamiliar commentarial genre,
capping phrases, to the classic texts of Ch'an. Daitō also came to be seen as a paradigmatic
embodiment of the Zen life. His insistence on the primacy of enlightenment, his severity in
the training of monks, his own period of postenlightenment cultivation, and his exemplary
death have long been equated with the highest ideals of the Rinzai Zen tradition. The great
Zen master Hakuin ( 1686-1769) confirmed posterity's assessment when he praised Daitō in
the Zen manner as "Japan's most poisonous flower." 3

Daitō's lineage eventually became the dominant branch of Japanese Rinzai Zen; most (if not
all) of today's Rinzai masters regard themselves as his spiritual descendants. Monks continue
to undergo rigorous training at Daitokuji, and Daitō's "Final Admonitions" are chanted daily
in Rinzai monasteries throughout the country. The capping- phrase exercise that Daitō helped
to bring to fulfillment now plays a central role in the koan training of Rinzai monks. When
Daitō's 650th

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death anniversary was commemorated at Daitokuji in 1983, Emperor Shōwa granted the
master a new title, and over three thousand guests attended a week of solemn ceremonies. 4

Contemporary commentators reaffirm Daitō's prominence. Isshū Miura and Ruth Sasaki
single out the Record of Daitō as the "most important" of the early Japanese Zen discourse
records. 5 Yanagida Seizan believes that Daitō "marks the beginning of koan Zen in Japan." 6
D. T. Suzuki accords "an important place in the history of Zen thought and literature" to one
of Daitō's capping-phrase commentaries. 7 Ogisu Jundō exalts the master as "the highest peak
of the Zen world in our country." 8 Heinrich Dumoulin places Daitō alongside the great Ch'an
masters: "With Daitō, the process of transplanting Zen from China is complete; the Japanese
masters have themselves equaled the heights of their Chinese prototypes." 9 Despite such lofty
estimates of Daitō's significance, an inclusive study of Daitō's life and teachings has yet to
appear in Japanese, and he remains virtually unknown in the West. 10

4
 Zen's Transmission to Japan

The period during which Zen took root in Japan lasted nearly two hundred years, from the late
twelfth century through the mid-fourteenth century. Monks from Japan braved the perils of
sea travel and endured the hardships of life in a foreign country to seek Ch'an in China, while
Chinese masters made similar sacrifices to emigrate to Japan. Kakua ( 1143-1182), the first
Japanese monk to encounter a Ch'an master in China, returned home in 1175. The last
Japanese pilgrim to transmit Ch'an teachings, Daisetsu Sonō ( 1313-1377), completed his
travels in 1358. The two endpoints delineate an eventful era of religious and cultural
transmission that has decisively influenced the development of Japanese civilization.

Daitō qualifies as a pioneer of Japanese Zen even though he lived during the latter part of this
period. He pursued a public career as a Zen master when that role was still relatively
undefined, he grappled with Ch'an texts that remained alien to most of his peers, and he made
his mark on an institution that had previously been dominated by émigré Chinese masters.
Though Zen scholars have not adopted precise periodization, early Japanese Zen roughly
parallels the Kamakura era ( 1185-1333), and medieval Japanese Zen is associated with the
Muromachi period ( 1338-1573). Daitō died in 1337, at the point of transition between these
two eras.

Originally, Zen was quite foreign to the Japanese—it began as an imported sect with
unfamiliar practices, doctrines, language, architecture, and monastic organization. The monks
who struggled to master

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and promulgate this new tradition were compelled to identify its essential features, for
themselves as well as others. The primary criterion of authenticity in Ch'an/Zen, regardless of
cultural setting, is enlightenment. Yet the discourse of early Japanese Zen reveals that the
matter did not end there: in many cases, neither enlightenment nor authenticity was self-
evident. For example, if an "enlightened" teacher violated moral precepts or lacked a formal
certificate, could he nonetheless be a real Zen master? Those who tackled such questions also
recognized that the more they spoke of "enlightenment," the more they tended to reify and
obscure it (a caveat we too must bear in mind). Daitō's style of teaching and practice reflects
an emerging consensus in regard to these and other central issues, a refinement forged from
the ambiguities and fissures that had characterized earlier phases of Japanese Zen.

Like the concept of enlightenment, the word "Zen" may begin to imply something monolithic
and unchanging, but the term is best regarded as a shorthand for a continuously evolving
spiritual and historical tradition that varies considerably from one context to another. The
same written character is pronounced ch'an in Chinese and zen in Japanese. Although certain
continuities justify the use of "Zen" or "Ch'an/Zen" to refer inclusively to both cultural
variants, from a historical standpoint it is advantageous to distinguish between Ch'an and Zen.
This terminological point did not concern the Japanese pioneers, however. Not only did the
same character refer equally to Ch'an and Zen, but the monks believed they were being
faithful to the tradition they inherited. Gaps in our knowledge of Ch'an in the Southern Sung
( 1127-1279) and Yüan ( 1260-1368) periods make it difficult to contrast Chinese precedents
with Japanese reformulations, but it is clear that new interpretations were part of the
transmission process. For example, some elements that the Japanese identified with authentic

5
Ch'an were common forms of Sung Buddhism. 11 Rather than attempting comparisons with
these Chinese antecedents, this study focuses on the ways that Ch'an/Zen was conceived and
experienced by the Japanese. Daitō's avoidance of a trip to China extended his distance from
anterior Chinese models. Whether or not he was conscious of his role, he represents an
important step in the indigenization of Japanese Zen.

Daitō and Capping Phrases

The pioneers of Zen in Japan were compelled to respond to a vast corpus of texts inherited
from China and India. Buddhist sutras, treatises, and commentaries introduced during earlier
periods were already familiar, but the koan collections, discourse records, and biographies of
Ch'an were new. Avidly sought by the early Japanese pilgrims, these novel Ch'an texts were
rapidly incorporated into Japanese Zen. An apt

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symbol of the transmission process is the traditional claim that the Zen monk Dōgen Kigen
(1200-1253) spent his last night in China making a complete copy of the Blue Cliff Record
(Pi-yen lu), a seminal koan collection.

Whether or not Dōgen accomplished such a task in one night, many more nights were surely
devoted to the problems associated with the interpretation of Ch'an/Zen texts. Though
enlightenment was not to be found in the words of any text, even a Ch'an or Zen one, a text
could still be infused with enlightenment. Someone with the "Dharma eye" was supposed to
have the ability to ascertain the depth of insight represented by a sermon, a dialogue, a poem,
or even a single phrase. Here the Japanese practitioners confronted knotty hermeneutical
issues close to the heart of Zen. For example, what constitutes an authentic reading of a
Ch'an/Zen text? Is enlightenment the final arbiter of validity, or do other factors come into
play? What is the proper role of an exegete who attempts to interpret a Ch'an/Zen work within
the tradition? How does one respond in a manner that does not undermine the spirit of the
original?

The answers to these and similar questions were not always clear. As precious records of the
"transmission of the lamp" from a different time and culture, Ch'an texts were comparable in
some ways to the Buddhist sutras, yet they deliberately departed from standard sutra formats.
In addition, some of the Ch'an genres were uniquely textual and untextual at the same time. A
koan collection such as the Blue Cliff Record, for example, had a fixed and complex structure;
like other texts it could be copied, printed, glossed, and even burned. Yet koan practice was
more of an oral tradition than a written one. The textual form of a koan, in isolation, rarely
sufficed as a tool for meditative practice. Koans acquired their spiritual and interpretive
context through their actual use in the monastic community, especially in the interaction
between master and disciple.

Among the early Japanese masters, Daitō was one of the few to confront important
interpretive challenges and work out solutions that endured. The most distinctive feature of
his Zen was his gifted use of capping phrases (agyo, jakugo) to express his own understanding
and spark insight in others. Capping phrases and verses had played a role in the literary
history of East Asia independent of Ch'an/Zen; their use in Ch'an and Zen coincided with the
development of koan practice. A Zen capping phrase is something of a cross between a koan

6
and a footnote. Applied to live situations as well as written texts, a capping phrase is supposed
to be able to make a comment, resolve a specific conundrum, convey a Zen insight, transform
another's awareness, resonate like a line of poetry, or perform several of these functions
simultaneously.

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Novices and adepts are equally entitled to compose or quote capping phrases, as long as the
conventions of the genre are observed. The shortest examples are just one word, such as
"Who?" or "Blind!" The longest rarely exceed twenty-five words. Most are quotations from
other sources: Buddhist sutras, Ch'an/Zen discourse records, classic koans, Chinese poetry,
Confucian texts, popular proverbs, and so on.

Daitō's involvement with capping phrases began early in his Zen training, when he used them
to answer koans orally. Achieving enlightenment through a Chinese koan, he rushed to his
master and expressed his understanding with a capping phrase: "Almost the same path!"
When asked about Zen in a public religious debate, he replied with a capping phrase that
baffled his opponent: "An octagonal millstone flies through the air." Capping phrases abound
in the Record of Daitō, because the master used them constantly in his formal dialogues with
his monks. In his teaching and his written commentaries, Daitō sought to respond to the Ch'an
corpus without sanctifying it, to interpret koans and discourse records without explaining
them. Capping phrases seemed to answer these needs. The written commentaries preserved in
the Record of Daitō and other sources include over two thousand different phrases. The
inclusion of a capping-phrase commentary in Daitō's discourse record is itself an indication of
the importance attached to Daitō's interpretation of Ch'an. One looks in vain for similar texts
among the writings of other masters from the Kamakura or Muromachi eras. Daitō's
consummate handling of this ingenious interpretive device puts him in a league with two
other luminaries noted for their devotion to the genre—Ch'an master Yüan-wu K'o-ch'in
( 1063-1135) and Zen master Hakuin in eighteenth-century Japan.

After Daitō's death a century passed before the oral capping phrases used in training began to
be recorded in Japan. The earliest records of capping-phrase practice are anonymous
semisecret accounts of encounters between masters and their disciples. By the time Tōyō
Eichō ( 1429-1504) compiled his [ Zen ] Phrase Book (Kuzōshi) in the late fifteenth century,
the capping of koans had become a recognized and indispensable part of Zen practice for
monks of the Rinzai sect. Tōyō culled roughly five thousand quotations from diverse sources,
arranging them on the basis of length. His work was the progenitor of the two capping- phrase
collections used by Rinzai Zen monks today: Zen Phrase Anthology (Zenrin kushō) and
Poison-painted Drum (Zudokko). 12

Little has been written about capping phrases, in Japan or elsewhere, because of their
difficulty and the confidential nature of their use in Zen practice. 13 Since World War II,
however, Japanese scholars have affirmed the significance of the capping-phrase exercise in
past and present Japanese Zen, and they have acknowledged Daitō's exceptional

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mastery of the genre. The initial publication of one of Daitō's capping- phrase commentaries
in 1944 was facilitated by D. T. Suzuki. 14 In 1967 Yanagida Seizan drew attention to the
capping-phrase text in Daitō's discourse record: "Daitō's capping phrases on the Record of

7
Hsüeh-tou are exceedingly well-wrought, and they reflect the highest level of Zen experience.
The beauty of Zen literature lies in the suggestiveness of these phrases and the depth of mind
which permeates them." 15 In 1968 the abbot of a Daitokuji branch temple brought to light a
valuable recension of Daitō's capping-phrase commentary on the Blue Cliff Record. Hirano
Sōjō edited and published this work in 1971. 16 In 1983 curators of the Kyoto National
Museum discovered an aged and partial manuscript listing about 550 capping phrases, with a
colophon by a later monk who attested that the calligraphy was by Daitō. A year later the
remaining segment was found and identified. 17 This text attributed to Daitō is the earliest
known capping-phrase anthology in Japan.

It is well known that Zen is skeptical of language and distrustful of texts. Claiming that the
deepest insights cannot be verbalized or even conceptualized, Zen defines itself as a "mind-to-
mind transmission" that is "not dependent on words." Masters are often portrayed as
transcending the constraints of conventional discourse through shouts, blows, gestures,
silence, and other nonverbal forms of expression. However, the actual use of language in Zen
is far more diverse than these depictions suggest. In a formal encounter a master like Daitō
might tell a monk, "Swallow the Kamo River in one gulp"; then half an hour later he might
say to the monk, "Join me for a cup of tea." That same day Daitō might employ various kinds
of language in composing a richly allusive verse, in writing some cryptic lines of
commentary, or in posting some rules for newcomers to the monastery. He might also express
himself through different flavors of silence—sitting in meditation, communicating something
to a disciple with a glance, or refusing to offer an oral explanation to a novice. Taking Zen's
antilanguage rhetoric too literally not only obscures the complex role that language and texts
played in the lives of monks; it also overlooks the tradition's sophisticated hermeneutical
awareness.

During the Sung period, Ch'an monks participated prominently in literati culture, and masters
such as Chüeh-fan Hui-hung ( 1071-1128) promoted "literary Ch'an" (wen-tzu Ch'an). In
Japan, a typical Zen adherent of Daitō's day frequently wrote poetry on such topics as
meditation, religious doctrine, travel, weather, illness, holidays, tea, and so on. Masters were
also expected to compose appropriate verses right after enlightenment and right before death.
These stanzas typically consisted of only a few lines, yet they were supposed to reveal the
depth of the writer's realization. In such contexts, "not dependent on words"

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also indicated the ability to use language freely to convey or generate insight. The minimum
measure of eloquence in Zen was the skillful use of words in the service of enlightenment.
Language that was conducive to awakening and also beautiful in a literary sense was prized
by some masters as the paramount form of Zen expression. Daitō's significance is enhanced
by his prowess in this realm, still evident in his discourse record, his capping-phrase
commentaries, and his poetry.

Half Open, Half Closed

The kernel of the koan that precipitated Daitō's enlightenment experience was the single word
"barrier" (kan), used in the sense of a tollgate placed across a road. We too confront a number
of barriers in a study of this nature, beginning with language itself. Ch'an and Zen texts are
full of apparent non sequiturs, obscure allusions, and specialized technical terms. The formal

8
language of Japanese Zen for over six centuries has been an unusual hybrid called kanbun—
Chinese as read and written by the Japanese. In Daitō's era the Ch'an classics were not
translated into Japanese, nor were they read in Chinese. Rather, the Chinese characters were
given a Japanese approximation of the Chinese pronunciation, supplied with Japanese
declensions, and read out of sequence according to Japanese syntax. Just as medieval
European monks attempted to write in Latin, the Japanese monks composed most of their
principal works in a "Chinese" that differed from classical and vernacular forms of the
original language. For example, when Daitō wrote poems in kanbun, he usually observed the
rules of Chinese rhyme even though these "rhymes" were based on ancient Chinese
pronunciations inaccessible to the Japanese. Daitō also composed his formal lectures in
kanbun, which is difficult to comprehend aurally unless the listeners also have copies of the
text. There must have been many occasions when even Daitō's own monks were baffled by
what they heard.

A second barrier we face concerns gaps in the surviving records. Though a considerable
number of Daitō's original texts and other valuable documents have been preserved over the
centuries, certain details about his life and his era can never be recovered historically. The
first biography of the master did not appear until eighty-nine years after his death, and the
information it contains is not always reliable: the author attributes to one emperor documents
that were written by another, and subsequent biographers give several different dates for
Daitō's move to the site of Daitokuji. Furthermore, none of Daitō's capping-phrase
commentaries survive in his own hand, and the oldest extant version of his "Final
Admonitions" is found in a 1617 text. When an original manuscript is missing, recensions of
it may have been transmitted from

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generation to generation through handwritten copies. Influential texts are sometimes revealed
to be completely spurious: the "Admonitions" of Daitō's heir Kanzan ( 1277-1360) appeared
373 years after Kanzan's death, created to fulfill sectarian needs at the time. 18

Given the limitations of the available sources, we will find that no single image of Daitō
captures him fully. He appears variously as the consummate outsider and the consummate
insider, a beggar under a bridge who founded a major monastery. Described by his
contemporaries as austere and unapproachable, he seems in his correspondence to have been a
caring and dedicated teacher. At times he was a clever innovator, at times a conservative
guardian of tradition. An erudite and sensitive poet, he allegedly had the grit to break his own
leg so he could assume the meditation posture at his death.

Many of Daitō's descendants struggled to reconcile these disparate perceptions. In the late
fifteenth century, when Daitō was being exalted as a successful founder patronized by two
emperors, one outspoken Daitokuji monk argued that a more authentic depiction of the master
would stress his years of hardship and obscurity. In the eighteenth century, Hakuin embraced
almost every possible view of Daitō without any sense of contradiction. While commenting
extensively on Daitō's formal lectures, Hakuin revered his predecessor's detachment from the
monastic system. While exalting Daitō's refined Chinese poetry as unmatched in the history of
Zen, Hakuin painted portraits of the master as a ragged beggar near the Gojō Bridge. In Zen
terms, all such images are like multiple reflections of the moon in pools along a path. As long
as one does not confuse the reflections with the moon, the real Daitō continues to swing his
sleeves as he sweeps the leaves in the garden.

9
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2
JAPAN IN THE EARLY
FOURTEENTH CENTURY

Daitōlived during a colorful and tumultuous period of Japanese his tory. The year before his
birth in 1282 the Mongol leader Kubilai Khan sent an armada to invade Japan, and the year
before his death in 1337 the rebellious general Ashikaga Takauji established a new national
government, displacing a defeated emperor. In this era bracketed by clashes of arms, the
warriors confirmed their status as Japan's ruling elite, and Zen rose to prominence in the
religious and cultural life of the country.

When Kubilai Khan sent his first message to the "King of Japan" in 1268, the Japanese were
already aware that Kubilai's army had dethroned the Sung dynasty on the Chinese mainland
and that his ambitions had not been sated. Nonetheless, the proud shogun Hōjō Tokimune
( 1251-1284) forsook diplomacy and readied his military defenses. In the eleventh month of
1274, 30,000 Mongols and Koreans invaded Kyushu in southwestern Japan. After weeks of
bloody but inconclusive fighting, a fierce typhoon decimated the Mongols' ships, and the
armada was repulsed. In a mood of national crisis, the Japanese mobilized fresh troops and
began to construct defensive walls along the Kyushu coast. When Kubilai sent two more
embassies, the shogunate responded by beheading the hapless envoys.

Then, in the sixth month of 1281, a massive force of over 150,000 Mongol, Chinese, and
Korean soldiers and sailors reached Kyushu. As battles raged on land and at sea, the besieged
nation prayed for deliverance. The retired emperor Kameyama appealed to the sun goddess
Amaterasu, Shinto priests petitioned other native gods, and Buddhist

-10-

monks invoked the aid of buddhas and bodhisattvas. About two months after the second
attack, another typhoon struck the coast of Kyushu. The invaders' ships foundered in the
narrow harbors and on the open sea. Many thousands of sailors drowned, and the soldiers
caught on land were killed or captured. Again the Mongols had been thwarted.

Popular sentiment in Japan attributed the dramatic victory to the kamikaze, or "divine wind,"
that seemed to have arisen in response to the nation's prayers. More credit was given to the
native gods (kami) than to the figures of the Buddhist pantheon. As Kitabatake Chikafusa
( 1293-1354) wrote a few decades later,

In the fourth year of Kōan [ 1281] the Mongol army assembled many ships and
attacked our country. There was fierce fighting in Kyushu, but the gods, revealing
their awesome authority and manifesting their form, drove the invaders away. Thus a
great wind suddenly arose and the several hundreds of thousands of enemy ships were
all blown over and demolished. Although people speak of this as a degenerate later
age, the righteous power displayed by the gods at this time was truly beyond human
comprehension. 1

10
Divine intervention or not, it was Japan's good fortune to be attacked at a time when it
possessed an active warrior class and capable leaders.

Daitō was born the year after the second invasion in the province of Harima, a strategically
important region between Kyushu (the first line of defense) and Kyoto (the home of the
emperor). In his youth Daitō witnessed local preparations for an expected third invasion
amidst reports of persistent Mongol hostility. Then in 1294 Kubilai died, the Mongol threat
abated, and the informed members of Japanese society began to savor a new sense of national
pride. Since Japan's earliest days of nation building in the sixth century, China had loomed
large in realms of politics, culture, and imagination, alternately alien and familiar; now
another dimension had been added to this complex relationship. The venerable Sung dynasty
had fallen to the Mongols, and Japan —never before invaded—had "defeated China."
Reaffirmations of Japan's uniqueness and occasional assertions of its superiority invigorated
artistic, religious, and intellectual circles. The Mongol threat had prompted one Zen monk to
vow, "Until the end of the end of the world our country will be superior to all other
countries," 2 a sentiment that events of the period seemed to validate.

The Ascendant Warrior Class

Three groups dominated Japan during Daitō's life—warriors, nobles, and Buddhist priests.
The warrior class, which ruled on both national and local levels, had its roots in the Heian era
( 794-1185), when the

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nobility first commissioned samurai ("retainers") to police provincial estates. That era ended
with the establishment of a military government that was still exercising power at the time of
Daitō's birth a century later. The ensuing Kamakura period ( 1185-1333) takes its name from
the city that served as the shogun's headquarters.

Though wars attended the beginning and end of the Kamakura period, battles were often
small-scale affairs. A fighting unit might consist of a leader and a few loyal vassals from the
extended clan; even when larger armies were raised, commanders rarely committed all their
forces to a single engagement. As in other realms of Japanese culture, appearances mattered:
the correct attire of a warrior included an undergarment of brocade or damask, heavy armor
made of cowhide, leggings and armbands, a silk cape, and a helmet with fierce-looking
ornaments. If all went according to form, a battle opened with an exchange of arrows, led to
confrontations between individual horsemen, and climaxed in hand-to-hand combat. The
foremost military history of the period, the Taiheiki ( Chronicle of Grand Pacification),
describes a deadly encounter between two warriors, Shidara and Saitō, who engage each other
only after they have properly introduced themselves:

These two galloped forward, and with clashing armor-sleeves grappled together
furiously until they fell down. Being the stronger, Shidara got on top of Saitō and set
about to cut off his head, but Saitō, nimble of limb, thrust upward and stabbed Shidara
three times. Truly these were mighty men, that even in death did not relax their
gripping hands, but pierced each one the other with their swords, and laid themselves
down on the same pillow. 3

11
Though such violent scenes may seem far removed from the cloistered routine of the Zen
monasteries where Daitō trained, political and religious realms were intimately linked in
medieval Japan. Daitō's uncle, Akamatsu Norimura ( 1277-1350), was a leading general and
an ardent patron of Zen. 4 As military governor of Harima, Akamatsu supported Emperor Go-
Daigo in the Emperor's attempt to topple the Kamakura-based shogunate. But when Go-Daigo
failed to reward Akamatsu adequately, the disgruntled commander threw in his lot with
Ashikaga Takauji ( 1305-1358), another former supporter who proceeded to oust Go-Daigo
and establish a new shogunate of his own. Akamatsu exemplifies a success story repeated
throughout medieval Japanese history: a ruthless provincial chieftain steadily gains in strength
until his ambitions affect national events. Once when Akamatsu was defending a fortress
against a superior force, he maneuvered the attackers into a trap: "Soon for three leagues men
and horses lay dead in heaps, from the foot of the castle to the west bank of the Muko

-12-

River, nor could travelers make their way past them"; on another occasion he ordered the
decapitation of several hundred prisoners, whose heads were then displayed on poles. 5 Along
with his martial pursuits, Akamatsu took religious vows as a "lay monk" (nyūdō) and
facilitated the establishment of Daitō's new Zen monastery.

It is well known that Japanese warriors subscribed to a demanding code of loyalty. In

principle, a retainer owed unqualified allegiance to his lord, though by the end of the
Kamakura period most vassals expected rewards for their service. A true warrior was
prepared to give up his life for his lord or his honor: in 1247 five hundred trapped fighters
committed hara-kiri rather than endure the shame of surrender. Although some allegiance was
paid to the throne, the ideology of absolute sovereignty was not well developed, and the
emperor was not the focus of the kind of national loyalty he attracted later in Japanese history.
Matters were complicated by the existence of rival imperial branches and "cloistered" (retired)
emperors, an unstable arrangement that Daitō had to accommodate in dealing with his
patrons.

However brutal a typical vassal's existence may have been, the more privileged warriors
enjoyed interludes of repose and refinement. Higher-ranking figures hosted tea ceremonies,
patronized artists and craftsmen, consulted advisors on cultural matters, and discussed
philosophy with learned monks. One of Takauji's generals, forced to abandon his mansion
after losing a battle, made sure it was fit for the rival general who would occupy it:

[He] spread rush matting with boldly emblazoned crests on the floor of the six-bay
banquet chamber and arranged everything in its proper place, from the triptych of
hanging scrolls to the flower vase, incense burner, tea kettle, and server. In the study
he placed a Buddhist verse in grass-writing by Wang Hsi-chih and an anthology by
Han Yü, while in the sleeping chamber he laid silken night-garments beside a pillow
of scented aloe wood. He provisioned the twelve-bay guard- house with three poles
bearing chickens, rabbits, pheasants, and swans and with a three-koku cask brimming
with sake. 6

When the occupying general was himself forced to withdraw a few weeks later, he
reciprocated with comparable provisions and gifts.

12
During Daitō's lifetime one shogunate collapsed in Kamakura and another was established in
Kyoto, a doubly momentous change of ruling clan and capital city. The Kamakura regime had
been weakened by changes in provincial landholding patterns and the burden of defending the
country from the Mongols; its decline was accelerated by its inability to satisfy all the
warriors and clerics who demanded rewards for their (alleged) contributions to the Mongols'
defeat. The last of the Hōjō rul

-13-

ers, Takatoki ( 1303-1333), was little more than a figurehead when he assumed power in 1316
at the age of thirteen. Two years later Go-Daigo gained the throne in Kyoto at the relatively
mature age of thirty, and in 1331 he launched his campaign to restore full authority to the
emperor. Within seven years another warrior clan—the Ashikaga—had triumphed,
confirming the centrality of the warrior class in Japanese society. Ashikaga Takauji made
Kyoto his capital, and vassals from the provinces seemed to overrun the city in the final years
of Daitō's life. In one notorious incident a band of rowdy retainers ripped branches from a tree
in the cloistered emperor's garden and attempted to set fire to a palace building; when they
were expelled from the city, they impudently staged a festive parade. Soon the warriors in
Kyoto were skillfully taking advantage of their enhanced status, "increasing their wealth a
hundredfold day by day." 7

The Aristocracy and the City of Kyoto

The second group in the triad that shaped medieval Japan—the nobles —remained vigorous
and influential even after a century of warrior rule. In 1300 a reigning emperor and no fewer
than five former emperors lived in Kyoto, dispensing the titles and ranks coveted by nobles
and warriors alike. A politically astute aristocrat might begin his career as a captain of the
palace guard, rise to become middle counselor, then minister of the right, and eventually
chancellor of the court. Emperor Go- Daigo's attempt to claim hegemony for the throne, a
vision that would also have signified a return to aristocratic dominance, may appear
anachronistic to later observers, yet at the time the triumph of his warrior opponents was far
from assured.

Whatever their political prospects, the nobles saw themselves as the principal guardians of
Japan's rich cultural heritage. Not only did they patronize and participate in traditional arts,
they also tried to keep abreast of philosophical and aesthetic developments in China. Because
Zen monks were often the most knowledgeable informants on such matters, the nobles
welcomed them at poetry sessions and tea ceremonies. While the warriors grappled with
Chinese soldiers on Kyushu beaches, the nobles grappled with Chinese manuals on rhyme and
meter. One popular new genre ingeniously combined Chinese and Japanese poetry: by taking
turns and linking verses, participants adroitly alternated between the two languages.

Though countless nobles held titles empty of real authority, some participated prominently in
the political struggles of the age. After Emperor Go-Daigo, perhaps the most important
representative of the aristocracy during Daitō's mature years was Kitabatake Chikafusa.
Equally adept in civil and military arts, he was an effective commander

-14-

13
of Go-Daigo's forces and the author of an influential history of Japan's imperial succession, A
Chronicle of Gods and Sovereigns (Jinnō shōtōki). Kitabatake believed that the nobles were
Japan's rightful rulers and that Go- Daigo represented the legitimate branch of the divided
imperial family, yet his arguments were rendered moot by the march of events.

Another contemporary of Daitō, Yoshida Kenkō ( 1283-1350), lamented the impending loss
of the aristocrats' rarefied subculture. A middle-ranking court officer, Kenkō was nostalgic for
the days before the Kamakura shogunate: "In all things I yearn for the past." 8 The tone of his
classic work Essays in Idleness (Tsurezuregusa) is wistful, ironic, and conflicted. Describing
the transfer of the imperial regalia from a retiring emperor to the imperial successor, Kenkō
focuses on the loneliness of the man stepping down:

The moment during the ceremony of abdication of the throne when the Sword, Jewels,
and Mirror are offered to the new emperor is heartbreaking in the extreme. When the
newly retired emperor abdicated in the spring he wrote this poem, I understand:

Even menials
of the palace staff treat me
as a stranger now;
in my unswept garden lie
the scattered cherry blossoms.

What a lonely feeling the poem seems to convey—people are too distracted by all the
festivities of the new reign for anyone to wait on the retired emperor. This is precisely
the kind of occasion when a man's true feelings are apt to be revealed. 9

The newly retired emperor in this passage is Hanazono, Daitō's influential patron and disciple.

In Japan the aristocracy was associated with one particular city, Kyoto, which had been the
country's capital from 794 to 1185. Kyoto was also the setting for most of Daitō's Zen career
—he sought his first Zen teachers there and later returned to build his own monastery.
Originally called Heian, the city was centrally located on Japan's main island, Honshu,
midway between Kamakura in the east and Kyushu in the west. Surrounded by hills on three
sides and without exposure to the sea, Kyoto is known for its distinct seasons: a long,
temperate fall; a cold, clear winter; a flower-filled spring; then weeks of "plum rain" followed
by a hot, muggy summer. Kyoto's initial reign as the center of national affairs effectively
ended in 1221, when the Kamakura regime installed its deputy in a section of the city called
Rokuhara. For the next century the shogunate firmly controlled the city and the court, at times
manipulating the succession of emperors. The imperial family, reduced

-15-

to near poverty, was forced to abandon the palace, which fell to ruin. Gradually the city
reoriented itself along an east-west axis—warriors, nobles, and priests became dominant in
the upper half, while merchants flourished in the lower half.

Daitō's Kyoto was a thriving religious center. The two most powerful Buddhist sects of the
Heian period, Tendai and Shingon, continued to exert considerable influence; Tendai's
presence was especially visible because its headquarters towered over the city from atop Mt.
Hiei in the northeast. Countless other temples were affiliated with the popular Buddhist faiths

14
that had arisen during the Kamakura period, principally the Pure Land, True Pure Land, and
Nichiren sects. By the mid fourteenth century, major Zen monasteries could also be found in
all quadrants of the city: Kenninji in the east along the Kamo River, Tōfukuji in the south,
Nanzenji in the southeast, Daitō's Daitokuji in the north, and Rinsenji at the foot of the
western hills.

In tandem with the port city of Sakai (near present-day Osaka), Kyoto was also the hub of
medieval Japan's most prosperous region, a crossroads for well-traveled trade routes to and
from the surrounding provinces. Commercial activity grew steadily during the Kamakura
period, survived the disruptions of the shogunate's collapse, and reached new heights under
the Ashikaga regime. As the merchants of Kyoto welcomed the warriors flocking to the
capital, more goods were produced and agricultural output rose. Some of the larger Zen
monasteries sponsored markets and guilds; others took an active role in international trade.

In 1336, the year before Daitō's death, the Ashikaga leaders selected a site in Kyoto for a new
imperial residence, and there they installed a compliant emperor from the "northern" court,
Kōmyō ( 1321-1380). Though the founding of the Ashikaga shogunate brought down the
curtain on the aristocracy, it marked the rebirth of Kyoto as the political, cultural, and
commercial center of the country.

The Priesthood and the Buddhist Worldview

Buddhist monks and priests constituted the third element of the triad that dominated medieval
Japan. The warriors may have controlled politics, and the nobility may have preserved
aesthetic refinement, but the priests were specialists in a realm antecedent to the activities of
all classes. Buddhism's ascendancy in Japan began about five centuries before Daitō's birth
and endured for at least 250 years after his death. The prevailing Buddhist worldview affected
all the named and unnamed actors in Daitō's life, from illiterate peasants to courtier poets; it
shaped their perceptions of the physical world, their notions of birth and death, their language,
and their dreams.

-16-

Foremost among the era's shared assumptions were the concepts of karma and rebirth.
Intimately linked, they were used to explain the differing fortunes of men, the relation
between humans and animals, the process of salvation, and a host of other phenomena. Karma
was a morally sensitive law of causation, its operation constant and orderly: just as past
behavior fashioned one's present circumstances, current behavior shaped one's future
existence. Classic Buddhist texts distinguished karma from determinism or fatalism, yet
popular conceptions were less subtle. A chronicle of Daitō's era claimed, "Even when people
take shelter together under the same tree or dip water from a single stream, it is because
strong karmic ties from many lives bind them together." 10 A warrior about to kill a captured
noble tried to calm his victim (and justify his act) by invoking karma: "Please console
yourself by remembering that all things are the result of the deeds of previous lives." 11

The succession of lifetimes was depicted graphically in the popular imagination as a spoked
wheel with six realms or courses: gods, humans, fighting titans, animals, hungry ghosts, and
denizens of hell. Created in India, this scheme was modified in China and then transmitted to
Japan, where it gained wide acceptance. A work completed the year after Daitō's birth gave a

15
dramatic illustration of an upward passage from the animal realm to the human realm; it told
of a beached clam that became the priest of a prestigious temple:

Kakukai, steward of Nanshōbō on Mount Kōya, had a reputation as a prominent

contemporary scholar of the Shingon sect. Wishing to know about his earlier existence, he
prayed to the Great Teacher [ Kōkai ] and was shown the circumstances of seven of his
former lives. "First of all you were a small clam in the sea west of Tennōji temple, tossed
ashore by the waves. While you were lying on the beach, a small child picked you up and
brought you to the front of the Golden Hall, where you heard the chanting of the Hymn in
Praise of Relics (Sharisandan). By virtue of this you were reborn as a dog living at Tennōji
who constantly heard the sutras and mystic formulas being chanted. Then you were reborn as
an ox, and because of having carried paper used for the copying of the Great Wisdom Sutra
you were reborn as a horse. The horse carried pilgrims to Kumano and was reborn as a votive-
fire attendant, who lit the way for people by always keeping the fires bright. Having gradually
become suffused by the karmic activity of wisdom, you were reborn as caretaker of the Inner
Chapel, where constantly your ears were moved and your eyes exposed to the practice of the
Three Mysteries. And now you are living as the steward Kakukai." 12

Though favorable rebirths were desirable, the ultimate aim was to get off the wheel of
transmigration altogether. If enlightenment or salvation

-17-

was not attained in this life, it might be attained in the intermediate state between death and
rebirth, in a future life, or through rebirth in the Pure Land of Amida Buddha. In Amida's
paradise, surrounded by wish-fulfilling trees and spiritually advanced companions, one had an
unparalleled opportunity to hear the Dharma—the truth of the universe and the teachings of
the Buddha. The conditions for an easy enlightenment were thereby fulfilled. A warrior
parting from his wife promised her wistfully, "If I am born in the Pure Land, I shall await you,
making a seat for two on a single lotus calyx." 13 The alternative to emancipation was
continuous suffering through repeated human rebirths or, worse yet, descent into one of the
subhuman realms.

Faith in deities, spirits, spells, and the transcendent power of faith itself was a basic element in
the prevailing worldview. As a young boy, Daitō was initiated into this mysterious realm at
Enkyōji, a major Tendai temple near his home. There he learned that Enkyōji's Buddha
figures had been made by a heavenly artisan, that the temple's tenth-century founder Shōkū
had taken a daily walk to and from Mt. Hiei (about sixty-five miles away), and that Shōkū's
scarf had been washed in an Indian lake "because the water of Japan was not fittingly pure." 14
year that Daitō founded Daitokuji in northern Kyoto, high-ranking Shingon clerics were
attracting attention elsewhere in the city, performing esoteric rituals to facilitate the
conception of a royal heir. When they invoked various healing buddhas, male-producing gods,
and bodhisattvas associated with longevity, "smoke from their sacred fires filled the Inner
Princess's garden, and the sound of their hand bells reverberated through the women's
apartments." 15 Warriors were equally convinced of faith's miraculous power. The loyalist
general Kusunoki Masashige ( 1294-1336), shot by an archer at close range, reportedly
survived because the arrow "struck an amulet wherein was preserved the Kannon Sutra,
which Masashige had trusted and read for many years." Furthermore, "Its arrowhead had
stopped in the two-line poem 'wholeheartedly praising the name [of Kannon].'" 16

16
In this milieu dreams were taken seriously as a means of clarifying the past, foretelling the
future, and communicating with the deceased. In Daitō's biography, revelatory dreams
precede his birth, enlightenment, and emergence as a public figure. The era's best-known
dream is credited to Emperor Go-Daigo: at a low point in his political fortunes, he dreamt
about a giant evergreen tree that was especially luxuriant on its south-facing side. Interpreting
the dream himself, Go-Daigo noted that the characters for "tree" and "south" could be
combined to create the word kusunoki (camphor tree). Soon thereafter he was pleased to
encounter Kusunoki Masashige, his most stalwart supporter. Dreams were also associated
with the Buddhist doctrine of impermanence:

-18-

everything that arises must perish, everything that is born must die. Whereas Buddhist monks
in India had deepened their awareness of transience by meditating on decomposing corpses,
the Japanese preferred aesthetic images such as morning dew, falling cherry blossoms, or
flowing water. "The world is as unstable as the pools and shallows of the Asuka River," wrote
Yoshida Kenkō in his Essays. 17

Daitō's contemporaries believed that human history was coming to the end of a long
downward cycle. They pointed to scriptural passages in which Shakyamuni himself had
predicted that the Dharma would eventually perish. Three phases of decline were identified:
true Dharma, counterfeit Dharma, and degenerate Dharma. Though the length of these periods
was variously calculated in India and China, the Japanese focused on the year 1052
(supposedly two thousand years after the Buddha's passing) as the onset of the third epoch.
Accordingly, they thought of themselves as living in the Dharma-ending or Final Age
(mappō, matsudai). The aristocratic priest Jien ( 1155-1225) wrote a work depicting Japanese
history as a steady decline, and popular religious leaders such as Hōnen ( 1133-1212) asserted
that because the Buddha's teachings were beyond ordinary comprehension, believers could no
longer attain salvation through their own efforts.

Still, dissenting voices were heard in various quarters. In the following verse by the poet-
monk Saigyō ( 1118-1190), Vulture Peak alludes to a site where the Buddha had preached:

Those who view the moon over Vulture Peak

as sunk below the horizon
are men whose minds, confused,
hold the real darkness. 18

Among the medieval Buddhist sects, Zen and Shingon were less affected by Final Age
assumptions. Zen master Bassui Tokushō, born a decade before Daitō's death, expressed a
characteristic attitude when he vowed: "During this period when authentic Buddhism has
declined to the point where it is about to expire, may my desire for Self-realization be strong
enough to save all sentient beings in this Buddha-less world." 19 For Kitabatake Chikafusa, the
kamikaze typhoon that had driven off the Mongols signaled a shift in the wind sufficient to
reverse the Final Age's downward trend: "We should not automatically despise ourselves
simply because we are said to have arrived at a 'later age.' It is a principle that the beginning
of heaven and earth starts today." 20

In Buddhism the monks found not only a worldview and a spiritual path, but also a career that
offered a better chance for upward mobility than most other occupations. Any number of

17
motivations and circumstances could impel entrance into a monastery. A six-year-old boy
might

-19-

be enrolled because his father had too many mouths to feed, a youth might be inspired by a
sincere religious aspiration, an older man might seek release from burdensome social
obligations, and so on. The activities of monks included meditation, chanting, rituals
(including funerals), scriptural study, pilgrimage, religious dancing, public works, political
affairs, and financial matters. In most sects priests took vows of celibacy, but some of the
Pure Land schools broke with tradition and began to allow their priests to marry.

Becoming a Buddhist monk meant "leaving home" (shukke). In religious terms, shukke
signified departure from the phenomenal world of ceaseless change and entrance into an
unchanging realm of perfect repose. In social terms, it meant severing all (or most) ties to
one's family and forsaking all (or most) worldly pursuits. Yet complexities inevitably arose,
because monks were not required to spend their entire lives in a monastery and because the
Buddhist institution also played a vital role in society. The Tendai abbot Gen'e ( 1279-1350),
"renowned for learning beyond all men of the age," 21 was an early proponent of Neo-
Confucianism in Japan and a contributor to the Taiheiki. In 1324 he was invited to instruct a
group of Emperor Go-Daigo's supporters, and a year later he debated Daitō in a contest that
pitted the established sects against their newest challenger, Zen. Other monks struggled to
find the proper balance between withdrawal and involvement. Daitō's peer Musō Soseki
( 1275-1351) served as abbot of eight successive temples and participated in national politics,
yet his writings reveal an unfulfilled yearning for a life of seclusion and calm.

Another type of priestly status, usually distinguished from the regular priesthood, was
acquired when someone took Buddhist vows but did not enter a monastery for a prolonged
period of training. Such a person was called a tonseisha, "one who has escaped the world."
Motives ranged from the religious to the ridiculous: one warrior who performed poorly during
a hunting expedition assuaged his shame by shaving his head and donning monastic robes.
The most prominent tonseisha were the emperors who took Buddhist vows after abdicating
their thrones, a practice inaugurated by Emperor Shōmu in the eighth century. Go- Daigo's
father, Go-Uda, considered exceptional among this group for the depth of his devotion, was
honored in his own day as a "great holy teacher." 22 The best-known renunciant in Daitō's
milieu was Kenkō, author of Essays in Idleness. Though Kenkō depicted himself as a recluse,
other sources indicate that he joined courtly poetry gatherings and mingled with the leaders of
the new Ashikaga regime. Like Kenkō, most tonseisha continued to pursue at least some of
their customary activities, and the contradictory aspects of the role did not go unnoticed. The
Buddhist priest Mujū Ichien ( 1226-1312) bluntly commented:

-20-

They only bear the name of "recluse" but do not know its reality. Year after year we can see
an increasing number of people who "escape the world" simply to get ahead in life and in
spite of the fact that they have no religious aspiration at all....

Let us change
the character ton in tonsei
to accord with the times:

18
 of old it meant "to escape,"
and now it means "to covet." 23

Other Roles in Medieval Society

Sometimes the boundaries between warriors, nobles, and priests became blurred. When
Kamakura served as Japan's capital, courtiers from Kyoto mingled freely with the nation's
military rulers, who in turn appointed an imperial prince as shogun. After the capital shifted to
Kyoto in 1336, marriages between members of warrior and aristocratic families became more
frequent. Distinctions were shaded in another way by those who combined the roles of warrior
and priest, or noble and priest, or noble and warrior. Not only did warriors like Akamatsu call
themselves lay monks (nyūdō), but the monks of several temples actually bore arms and
affected the military balance. Emperors who took Buddhist vows and other aristocratic
renunciants exemplified the noble-priest combination; noble and warrior roles fused in the
lives of courtiers who took up arms on Go-Daigo's behalf. As Kenkō commented: "Everybody
enjoys doing something quite unrelated to his normal way of life. The priest devotes himself
to the arts of the soldier; the soldier (apparently unfamiliar with the art of drawing a bow)
pretends to know the Buddhist Law and amuses himself with linked verse and music.... Not
only priests, but nobles, courtiers, and even men of the highest rank are fond of arms." 24

One prominent figure who combined all three roles was Prince Morinaga ( 1308-1335), a son
of Emperor Go-Daigo. At the age of twenty, after only a year in a monastery, Morinaga was
appointed abbot of the Tendai sect (a politically strategic post), and when hostilities broke
out, he became one of Go-Daigo's most effective generals. He was also an early patron of
Daitō. In an unusual letter to his father, Morinaga attempted to justify his military aims in
Buddhist terms:

If I should return to the priesthood, casting aside the power I command as a great
general, who would defend the court militarily? There are two methods by which the
buddhas and bodhisattvas seek to aid living beings: through force and through
persuasion.... Which course on my part would be better for the country—to live in
obscurity on Mt. Hiei guarding but one temple, or as a great general to pacify the
country to its farthest extent? 25

-21-

The aspirations expressed in this passage were cut short when Morinaga was killed in prison
at the age of twenty-seven.

The majority of the population, greatly outnumbering the visible minority at the top of
society, of course had nothing to do with swords- manship, linked verse, or Buddhist
exegesis. In the background of all the remembered events of the period were the anonymous
peasants— laboring in muddy rice paddies, transporting goods along the highways, scheming
to avoid oppressive taxes, and cleaning up after bloody battles. Periodic natural disasters
intensified their suffering. In the mid- thirteenth century a series of earthquakes and floods
caused widespread famine and plague; the starving peasants ate roots and grass, and streets
were clogged with corpses.

19
Women in Japan had long been subordinate to men, though opportunities for women of the
warrior class expanded briefly during the early Kamakura period, when they could inherit and
even administer provincial estates. At the national level, Hōjō Masako ( 1157-1225) initiated
the regent system by ruling first through her son and later through her great-grandnephew.
However, the status of women declined as feudalism reshaped society; their subjugation was
justified by a mix of indigenous beliefs, assimilated Chinese precedents, and Buddhist
doctrines. Because blood was an ancient taboo in Japan, menstruation and child- birth were
treated as pollutants. Confucianism contributed its maledominated hierarchies and its
traditional justifications for divorcing a wife: failure to produce a son, gossiping, lewdness,
jealousy, stealing from one's husband, disrespect toward his parents, or disease. Many
Buddhists believed that a woman had little chance for enlightenment unless she was reborn as
a man. Kenkō again expressed attitudes typical of Daitō's era: "In fact, women are all perverse
by nature. They are deeply self-centered, grasping in the extreme, devoid of all susceptibility
to reason, quick to indulge in superstitious practices.... Only when a man enslaved by his
infatuation is courting a woman does she seem charming and amusing." 26

The one realm besides the family in which women enjoyed some degree of autonomy was
religion. In Buddhism they were active as lay parishioners, nuns, and patrons; for example,
many of Daitō's letters were addressed to female disciples. One woman who entered the lore
of Japanese Zen was a Zen nun named Shōtaku, widow of a prominent vassal slain in 1331.
She is said to have thwarted a rapist who was armed with a sword: "The nun took out a piece
of paper and rolled it up, then thrust it like a sword at the man's eyes. He became unable to
strike and was completely overawed by her spiritual strength. He turned to run and the nun
gave a 'Katsu!' shout, hitting him with the paper sword. He fell and then fled." 27 Whatever
their individual

-22-

accomplishments, nuns were not permitted to ordain disciples, hold high ecclesiastical posts,
or visit holy sites such as Mt. Hiei and Mt. Kōya.

Emperor Go-Daigo's Kenmu Restoration

Emperor Go-Daigo's short-lived Kenmu Restoration, a major turning point of Japanese

history, provided the backdrop for the final years of Daitō's life. Go-Daigo assumed the throne
in 1318 as an adult (child emperors had been the custom), and his father, Go-Uda, soon
dissolved the office of the cloistered emperor, unifying the authority of the throne for the first
time in over two hundred years. In 1324 Go-Daigo was implicated in an abortive antishogunal
plot, and in 1331 he was forced to flee to the hills west of Nara. The following year he went
into exile on the Oki islands. Despite these reversals, the generals who had taken up the
Emperor's cause were victorious in the field: Ashikaga Takauji captured Kyoto, and Nitta
Yoshisada seized Kamakura. Go-Daigo's triumphant reentry into Kyoto in 1333 signaled the
end of the Kamakura shogunate that had ruled Japan for over a century.

For the next three years Go-Daigo sought to create a new government based on unconditional
imperial hegemony. Some of his most dramatic policies involved the religious establishment,
over which he had already established a measure of control. As part of his plan to shift the
country's center of gravity from Kamakura to Kyoto, he reorganized the rankings in the
official Gozan, or "Five Mountains," network of Zen monasteries. Go-Daigo singled out

20
Daitō's new monastery as "the nation's peerless Zen temple," ranking it at the top of the
system and praising it as "a grand and auspicious site for the enhancement of the Emperor's
destiny." 28 Go-Daigo also patronized other Zen masters, including the Chinese émigré Ming-
chi Ch'u-chün ( 1262-1336) and the politically agile Musō Soseki, who was summoned to
Kyoto within months of the Emperor's return to power. Even though many of Go- Daigo's
initiatives were later reversed, the Kenmu Restoration marks the entry of the Zen institution
into the religious and political mainstream of medieval Japan, a development that Daitō
witnessed and facilitated.

Political difficulties soon plagued Go-Daigo, who rewarded supporters capriciously and
delegated authority clumsily. Prince Morinaga and Ashikaga Takauji began to feud, and
turmoil persisted in the provinces. The case of Daitō's uncle Akamatsu was indicative: though
instrumental in Go-Daigo's success, he was rewarded with only one estate, and his
appointment as governor of Harima was revoked. "It is said that it was because of this that
Enshin [Akamatsu] quickly changed his heart and became an enemy of the court," the
Taiheiki reported. 29

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The Kenmu Restoration was soon over. Takauji turned against Go- Daigo, captured Kyoto in
1336, and enthroned Kōmyō as the new emperor. In contrast to Go-Daigo, Takauji efficiently
satisfied his warrior allies' hunger for land; this time Akamatsu was confirmed as lord of
Harima. In the first month of 1337 Go-Daigo escaped to a lonely exile in the hills of Yoshino,
south of Kyoto. That year Daitō's strength was also waning, and during the winter he died
sitting upright in the meditation posture. In 1338 Takauji was declared shogun, and Go-Daigo
died the next year, at the age of fifty-two. After the failure of the Kenmu Restoration, the
court was excluded from national leadership for five hundred years.

Modern scholars acknowledge Go-Daigo's independent spirit and lively mind, yet most of
them also fault his lack of political acumen and his callous treatment of his own supporters. In
the view of historian Ivan Morris, "He was a proud, arrogant ruler who would let nothing
stand in his way, yet who, for all his intelligence and learning, pursued his ambitions with a
remarkable lack of realism." 30 Because the Kenmu Restoration lasted only a few years, it is
difficult to assess. More than a coercive redistribution of power, it arose in response to a
complex mix of political, social, and intellectual forces. Though the Restoration is generally
seen as a reactionary attempt to reverse the inexorable rise of the warrior class, some scholars
now challenge the thesis of the inevitability of warrior domination. Rather, they credit Go-
Daigo with a workable vision of feudal monarchy, comparable to the autocratic centralization
achieved sixty years later by the shogun Ashikaga Yoshimitsu. 31

Contemporary observers, Daitō among them, also struggled to interpret these dramatic events,
which raised fundamental and unsettling questions of legitimacy. Who was entitled to rule—
emperor or shogun, nobles or warriors? Within the divided imperial family, which line
represented the true succession—Go-Daigo's defeated southern branch or the northern branch
forcibly enthroned by Takauji? What criteria should be used to resolve these dilemmas? Out
of this milieu came Kita batake 's Chronicle of Gods and Sovereigns, a sustained investigation
of imperial legitimacy. As we will see, parallel issues of religious authenticity occupied Daitō
and other pioneers of Japanese Zen.

21
For someone who deliberately remained in the background of public affairs, Daitō was
personally involved with a surprising number of the era's leading figures. Three of his key
patrons were the principal representatives of the imperial family: Emperor Go-Daigo,
Emperor Hanazono, and Prince Morinaga. Another powerful patron (and a relative) was the
influential general Akamatsu Norimura. Daitō had a celebrated encounter with the highly
respected Tendai abbot Gen'e, who allegedly

-24-

asked to become Daitō's disciple. 32 One other name might be added to the list of the
luminaries whose lives touched Daitō's— Yoshida Kenkō, author of Essays in Idleness. Born
a year apart, both men were active in Kyoto at the same time, and both had been students of
Zen master Nanpo Jōmyō. Though Kenkō does not mention his religious affiliations in his
writings, his name appears in early Daitokuji documents. 33 It is possible to imagine Kenkō
paying a visit to Daitō in the abbot's quarters on a cold winter day—the courtier poet and the
Zen master discussing a Chinese text or a recent battle as they warm their hands over a
charcoal brazier.

-25-

3
DAITŌ'S EARLY ZEN
TRAINING

The earliest accounts of Daitō's life are a creative blend of history and hagiography. The
biographers sought to express the character and spirit of their subject, exalt him as the founder
of their religious lineage, and direct attention to a paradigm—a life committed to Zen
practice. Whether or not they were conscious of their adherence to a genre, they structured
their texts according to the conventions of Buddhist biography. Their task was facilitated to a
considerable degree by Daitō's own inclination to model himself after his eminent
predecessors. Accordingly, an auspicious birth and a precocious response to Buddhism are
followed by the highlights of the spiritual path: an initial encounter with a master, a deep
enlightenment experience, a period of seclusion, and eventual success as a teacher. The
master's final admonitions and his exceptional death complete the traditional pattern. Most of
the writers and readers of these accounts were monks who regarded themselves as Daitō's
spiritual descendants, and they were not overly concerned about questions of historical
accuracy. Those who may have recognized elements of hagiography would have contended
nonetheless that Daitō's life was infused with an extraordinary significance that transcended
literal truth.

The sectarian sources are augmented and clarified by many documents that have survived
from Daitō's era. Remarkably, we can still inspect a considerable body of calligraphy in
Daitō's own hand: two satori verses, a final testament, a death poem, letters, and transcriptions
of various religious and secular classics. Numerous imperial proclamations addressed to the
master, written by the emperors themselves,

-26-

22
have also been preserved. Other valuable materials include the diary of Emperor Hanazono
and the records kept by Tettō Gikō ( 1295-1369), a senior disciple. The first biography of
Daitō appeared in 1426, nearly a century after the master's death, written by a monk in Daitō's
lineage named Shunsaku Zenkō. Little is known about Shunsaku except that he was a disciple
of the seventeenth abbot of Daitokuji and served as head priest of Tokuzenji, the oldest
Daitokuji subtemple. His text, the Exploits of National Master Daitō (Daitō Kokushi gyōjō), is
brief and sporadically dated, yet it became the basis for all subsequent biographies of the
master. 1

The second known biography of Daitō, written in 1617, is called the Chronicle of National
Master Kōzen Daitō Shōtō, Founder of Daitokuji (Daitoku Kaisan Kōzen Daitō Kōshō Shōtō
Kokushi nenpu). 2 The writer was Takuan Sōhō ( 1573-1645), an eminent Zen master in his
own right. Takuan trained at Daitokuji and was the 154th abbot there briefly in 1608. He also
founded temples in other parts of the country, instructed a retired emperor, and had many
prominent samurai disciples. At the age of seventy-one he wrote the single character for
"dream" and passed away. Takuan's writings include a well-known treatise on the unity of
Zen and swordsmanship, and his name has been given to a pickled radish that remains part of
the Japanese diet. In his Chronicle Takuan incorporated the bulk of Shunsaku's Exploits and
added an equal amount of new material, some of it drawn from historical documents and the
rest unverifiable. In order to create a "chronicle," he appended dates to every incident and
alleged incident in Daitō's life. Takuan's original manuscript remains in excellent condition,
housed in the Daitokuji subtemple Daisen-in. One can catch glimpses of the writer
energetically revising his own work: lines are crossed out, characters are squeezed into
margins, and the calligraphy flows more freely as the story nears its end.

In the late seventeenth century a spate of brief Daitō biographies appeared, most of them
written for collections of the lives of famous Japanese monks. 3 They are derivative of
Shunsaku's Exploits and omit some material found in Takuan's account, suggesting that the
latter had not circulated widely. In 1767 Takuan's Chronicle was edited and reissued by Kokai
Sōnyo ( 1695-1770), the 349th abbot of Daitokuji. 4

Daitō's Youth

Daitō was born sometime in 1282. Though the actual day was not recorded, one late
biography claims that the birth occurred on the seventh day of the twelfth month, the eve of
the traditional date of the Buddha's enlightenment. Daitō's parents lived in the small farming
village of Oyake, about seventy miles west of Kyoto. At the time the region,

-27-

called Isei, was part of Harima province; today it is the town of Tatsuno, near the city of
Himeji in Hyōgo prefecture. In the Tenmon era ( 1532-1555) Daitō's birthplace was honored
by the construction of a modest temple, now called Hōrinji. An old well on the temple
grounds is said to have been used by Daitō's family.

Daitō's father, Urakami Kamon, was a descendant of the ancient Ki clan, which had exercised
influence in the Harima region for centuries. Though the Urakami family belonged to the
warrior class, the specific occupation of Daitō's father is not known. Daitō's mother was of the
Suga clan. His uncle on his mother's side was the leading general Akamatsu Norimura, later

23
confirmed as the governor of Harima. Only five years older than Daitō, Akamatsu entered the
Zen sect as a youth, shaved his head, and took the Buddhist name Enshin. He is said to have
trained for some time at Shōrinji temple in Niwase. 5

Shunsaku's description of Daitō's birth in the Exploits is unabashedly hagiographic:

The mother had a dream in which a monk held a white flower; it blossomed with five
petals, and he gave it to her. She became pregnant. After conception she remained in a
sleeplike state without waking. When the time of birth arrived, she was sleeping
deeply, unaware. Suddenly the midwife heard the single cry of a baby. She went and
looked. The infant's skin had a lustrous glow even before he was bathed. He was
remarkably precocious. The top of his head bulged upward, and there was a
protuberance on his forehead. His eyes emitted a light that pierced other people, and
he was able to turn his head to watch the movements of those around him. 6

The allusions in this passage boldly place Daitō in the highest spiritual rank: according to
tradition, Shakyamuni Buddha's mother also conceived through a dream, and the infant
Shakyamuni exhibited similar attributes.

Shunsaku recounts just one incident from Daitō's childhood, in which the sharp-tongued
youth uses a paradoxical question to outwit an adult. Takuan's Chronicle adds three more
tales and arbitrarily dates all four. Though these accounts are surely apocryphal, they
introduce Zen teachings and convey the authors' sense of Daitō's character. For example,
Takuan tells the following story about the six-year-old Daitō:

One day the Master [ Daitō ] was playing around a Buddhist temple with a group of
children. He pointed to the Buddha inside the hall and asked one of the children,
"What's this?" The child said, "Buddha." The Master said, "No it's not." "If it's not
Buddha, then what is it?" the child said. The Master replied, "If it were Buddha, it
would not have a human face like yours." He then climbed onto the

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Buddha's shoulders. All the other children ran off in fear, yet the Master's expression
did not change. 7)

When Daitō was about ten, his parents sent him to Enkyōji, the Tendai Buddhist temple less
than twenty miles from their home. Commanding a magnificent view of the surrounding area
from its perch on wooded Mt. Shosha, Enkyōji had a distinguished history that spanned three
centuries, and it flourished in Daitō's day as a regional center for Buddhist studies and
devotional activities. The Taiheiki describes Enkyōji's principal image, the bodhisattva
Kannon, as "carved from a tree that was a buddha," 8 and Shunsaku states that Daitō's parents
had directed their prayers for a son to this figure.

For about nine years Daitō lived and studied on Mt. Shosha. One of his teachers, Kaishin,
specialized in the Vinaya texts that contained the ancient rules of conduct for the Buddhist
priesthood. During this period Daitō was initiated into the scriptures, monastic regulations,
and meditation techniques of Tendai, which represented the Buddhist mainstream at the time.
Most of the major religious figures of the Kamakura period received their initial Buddhist
training from the Tendai sect, yet the Zen monks who followed Daitō typically spent their

24
entire careers within the Zen institution. Daitō thus stands at a point of transition between two
eras. The Tendai training that he acquired on Mt. Shosha continued to nourish him throughout
his subsequent involvement in Zen. Years later, one of his regulations for Daitokuji stated:
"Novices, postulants, and young trainees...should devote themselves to study." 9

In his own writings Daitō offers no information about his youth or his early religious
experiences. Though the circumstances surrounding his departure from Enkyōji are not
known, Takuan depicts the sixteen- year-old Daitō turning away from Tendai in favor of Zen.
He allegedly reflected:

Even if I were to study exhaustively the Tripitaka [Buddhist canon], I would only be a
person whose learning is based on the words of others. Though such people may be
called wise, there must be another way to live [spiritually]. If I construe famous
phrases to be the Buddha-Dharma, I will never be able to resolve the great matter. It
would be far better to enter the [Zen] sect that "does not depend on words, points
straight [at a person's mind], and is singly transmitted." 10

These words are a standard Zen criticism of Tendai and the other Buddhist schools labeled by
Zen as "doctrinal." The final sentence alludes to a well-known stanza ascribed to the
Ch'an/Zen patriarch Bodhidharma. Whatever Daitō's actual sentiments, the above account
echoes the biography of the Ch'an master Lin-chi (d. 866), who alluded to

-29-

another line of Bodhidharma's verse: "Suddenly Lin-chi said with a sigh: 'These are
prescriptions for the salvation of the world, not the principle of "a separate transmission
outside the teachings."' Then he changed his robe and traveled on a pilgrimage." 11

Zen Training under Masters Kōhō and Nanpo

After leaving Enkyōji, Daitō went first to Kyoto and then farther east to Kamakura. The
centers of Japanese Zen at the time were Kyushu (Hakata) and Kamakura, with Kyoto a
distant third. According to Shunsaku, Daitō had a dialogical encounter (mondō) with an
unnamed abbot of Kenchōji temple in Kamakura. Takuan dates the meeting 1301, when
Sōden Dōkai (d. 1309) was serving as abbot; two years later the famous Chinese master I-
shan I-ning ( 1247-1317) assumed the post. Daitō reportedly challenged the abbot with a
koan: "When you encounter a dying snake in the road, don't beat it to death. Carry it home in
a bottomless basket." 12 At the end of their brief dialogue the senior figure hesitated, and Daitō
gave a shout. The nineteen-year-old Daitō is thus portrayed by his biographers as already
conversant with Zen texts and adept at mondō, though he had not yet trained under a Zen
master or even been ordained as a monk.

Soon thereafter, in 1303 or 1304, Daitō presented himself to his first Zen teacher, Kōhō
Kennichi ( 1241-1316), also known by his title Bukkoku Kokushi. An emperor's son who
studied in Japan under two émigré Ch'an masters, Kōhō was one of the leading Zen figures of
the day. At the time he was abbot of Manjuji temple in Kamakura. The first interview
between Daitō and Kōhō stretches over three days, according to the version offered by
Shunsaku. For a dialogue of this nature there was no one present to make a careful
transcription; either participant might have reported the exchange to his students, and there

25
may also have been a period of oral transmission within the lineage before an account was
recorded. Some encounters were undoubtedly recreated at a later date by those who composed
and compiled texts. That such dialogues have long been given credence within Zen is reason
enough to take them seriously, even if we choose to regard them more as literature than as
history.

The language of the first Daitō-Kōhō encounter is terse, difficult to follow, and full of
references to Buddhist and Zen writings. Daitō demonstrated a mastery of the Ch'an corpus,
alluding to such classics as the Record of Lin-chi (Lin-chi lu), the Transmission of the Lamp
(Ching-te ch'uan-teng lu), and the Blue Cliff Record (Pi-yen lu). His later style of teaching
and writing—direct, self-assured, almost brusque—is already apparent. For example, he gave
replies such as "With each step I trample on Vairocana's head" or "I alone am holy throughout
heaven and

-30-

earth" ( Vairocana is the cosmic Buddha of the Shingon sect; "I alone am holy..." is attributed
to the infant Shakyamuni). 13 Following the second day of dialogue, Kōhō accompanied the
newcomer to the temple gate and said to him: "I have seen many Zen practitioners, but none
have been as brilliant as you. I invite you to shave your head and become a monk here. You
will be a pillar upholding my Way." 14

The decisive moment of the mondō reportedly occurred on the third day, as follows:

The Master [ Daitō ] visited Bukkoku [ Kōhō ] again the next day. When Bukkoku
saw him coming, he quoted an ancient master and asked, "When the Great Function
manifests, unbound by restrictions, what then?" The Master replied, "It is already
manifest, long before you asked the question." "Where?" Bukkoku countered. "Last
night a wild wind broke a pine tree in front of the gate," the Master answered.
Bukkoku said, "What is this wild wind?" The Master fanned himself with his fan.
Bukkoku paused. The Master demanded, "Isn't the wild wind coming from this fan?"
Bukkoku laughed and said, "You nearly saw it but went right past." 15

In encounters of this kind, the participants are striving to use language in a manner that
undercuts and transcends the recognized limits of language. The most valued responses make
their point through demonstration rather than argument, and the ideal is to sustain a lively
pace that does not tolerate self-conscious reflection or calculation. Too long a hesitation
signifies some kind of shortcoming and can result in "defeat" (though in other cases a
deliberate pause is a proper response). Even in Daitō's initial exposure to Zen, the importance
of words is already evident. Far from rejecting verbal discourse, mondō acknowledge
language's potential ability to express insight, stimulate awareness, and transform a given
situation.

These encounter dialogues tend to resist customary forms of interpretation; even the simplest
gloss raises a number of challenging hermeneutical issues. Perilous as the enterprise may be,
we must nonetheless make some attempt to unpack the cryptic language handed down by Zen
tradition. A master may ask a Zen monk to demonstrate the essence (tai) and the function (yō)
of a particular koan or of Buddha- nature itself. In the dialogue quoted above, not only does
wind manifest the wondrous functioning of Buddha-nature, but a wind wild enough to topple
a tree also expresses the primordial, "unbound" quality of Buddha-nature, beyond the grasp of

26
the discursive mind. Daitō's final response is to fan himself. While the "Great Function"
manifests spontaneously, at the same time each person is also its creator; though it is here
already, one still has to prove or demonstrate it. The wind cited by

-31-

Daitō, besides illustrating the Great Function, may also allude to his interaction with the
master—in that case, the pine tree in front of the temple gate symbolizes Kōhō, who has been
"blown away" by the bold young Daitō. Kōhō catches on and asks, "All right, show me this
wild wind," and Daitō silently indicates himself through the use of his fan. Kōhō's pause is a
further test, and this time he apparently catches Daitō, whose attempt to verbalize his meaning
betrays a lack of certainty. Daitō was close, but not close enough: "You nearly saw it but went
right past."

Soon after his arrival at Kōhō's temple, Daitō was ordained as a monk. The biographers pass
over the meaning of this event for Daitō or for his role in the Zen community. At the least,
"taking the tonsure" involves a ritual shaving of the head, a formal declaration of monastic
vows, and the acceptance of a new Buddhist name. Daitō's full monastic name was Shōhō
Myōchō, though the records do not indicate how or when it was acquired. Myōchō
("Wondrous Transcendence") is Daitō's imina, usually the first name that a monk receives
from his teacher, and it is likely that he was given this name when he became a monk under
Kōhō. Shōhō ("Peak of the [Zen] School") is Daitō's gō, sometimes chosen by the monk
himself; he was using it by 1326. The name Daitō ("Great Lamp") is part of an honorary title
bestowed by Emperor Hanazono late in the master's career. 16

During this same period, Kōhō was also visited by the person who went on to become Daitō's
most illustrious contemporary, Musō Soseki. The comparison between Kōhō's initial meetings
with the two young practitioners is revealing. Unlike Daitō, Musō had already experienced
several years of formal Zen training in a major metropolitan monastery, but he was frustrated
by his teacher I-shan I-ning, and he had been trying for some time to meet Kōhō. According
to the earliest Chronicle of Musō's life, Kōhō greeted the new arrival with a challenge: "Show
me what Master I-shan has taught you." In reply, Musō quoted his teacher: "In my school
there are no words, no Dharma, to give people." Kōhō raised his voice and demanded, "Why
didn't you answer that such a teaching already reveals a lot?" Upon hearing this response,
Musō immediately had an insight. He vowed to himself, "I won't come to see the Master again
until I have attained deep enlightenment!" and thereupon left. 17 Whereas Daitō's mondō with
Kōhō lasted for three days, Musō's ended in five minutes. Daitō gave many creative replies,
but Musō offered only one quote from his former teacher. Yet Musō had some kind of insight
and Daitō did not. The outcomes of these encounters also varied: Musō departed promptly,
whereas Daitō stayed for a year or two as one of Kōhō's monks. In the end, however, it was
Musō, not Daitō, who became Kōhō's Dharma heir. One further comparison

-32-

is of interest—the Chronicle of Kōhō confirms this exchange between Kōhō and Musō, but
there is no mention in Kōhō's biographies of any meeting with Daitō.

One night Daitō was practicing zazen meditation in the Manjuji monks' hall when he
overheard someone in another room reciting a verse by the Chinese master Pai-chang Huai-
hai ( 720-814):

27
 Truth's naked radiance,
cut off from the senses and the world,
shines by itself—
no words for it. 18

When Daitō heard this stanza, he had a sudden insight, and that same night he went to Kōhō
to present his understanding. No mondō is recorded, and no satori poem emerged from the
incident, but Kōhō was unstinting in his praise. He allegedly told Daitō: "This is true insight.
You must raise aloft the banner of the Dharma and fortify the teachings of our sect." 19

Though enlightenment is sometimes depicted as an all-or-nothing experience, insights may

vary considerably in depth, clarity, and intensity. The biographers' phrase for Daitō's (and
Musō's) first insight under Kōhō is sei ari, which usually indicates an initial glimpse or taste
of self-realization. Kōhō's more emphatic expression "true insight" (shinshō no kenge) echoes
a famous phrase in the Record of Lin-chi, 20 his reference to the banner of Dharma is a Zen
response to high attainment, an idiom that often signifies recognition of a Dharma heir.

Pai-chang's deft poem and Daitō's electric response to it demonstrate one of the ways in which
Zen language and Zen practice can converge. The stimulus that precipitated Daitō's first
awakening experience was not only verbal; it also happened to be a sixteen-character verse.
For Daitō, the entire stanza or one of its phrases apparently functioned as a "turning word"
(ittengo): a word or expression, delivered at just the right moment, that powerfully transforms
the experience of the listener or reader. In this case, the pivotal utterance was not even aimed
specifically at Daitō. Later, as a mature master, Daitō freely used poetry and poetic capping
phrases to create his own turning words. It is in a sense ironic that Pai-chang's highly regarded
poem concludes with a statement about the ultimate ineffability of truth. And yet for
practitioners of eloquent Zen, declarations like "there are no words for it" paradoxically
function as an effective type of religious language.

As Kōhō and Daitō seemed to be developing a fruitful rapport, another distinguished master
attracted Daitō's attention: Nanpo Jōmyō, known also by his title Daiō Kokushi. 21 Nanpo had
trained in China for eight years under a leading Ch'an master, Hsü-t'ang Chih

-33-

yü ( 1185-1269). Upon his return to Japan, Nanpo settled in Hakata, Kyushu, where he taught
for thirty years. In his seventies he was invited to assume the abbacy of monasteries in Kyoto
and Kamakura. Shunsaku credibly states that Daitō was motivated by Nanpo's excellent
reputation, and Takuan even depicts Kōhō as encouraging the move to another teacher, in
response to a question by Daitō about a koan:

The Master [ Daitō ] had previously asked Bukkoku [ Kōhō ] about the koan "An Ox
Passes Through the Window." Bukkoku said, "Old Nanpo has intimately inherited
Hsü-t'ang's teaching. Someday go to Nanpo and question him." 22

The practice of working with more than one Zen master was well established in China, where
students traveled on pilgrimages in order to seek their true teacher or test their understanding
through "Dharma combat." Some of the Chinese monks chronicled in such texts as the
Transmission of the Lamp seemed to be continuously en route from one temple to another,
traversing vast distances mostly on foot. During the early phases of Japanese Zen, similar

28
patterns were followed. Nanpo trained for ten years in Japan under the émigré Ch'an master
Lan-ch'i Tao-lung ( 1213-1278), for eight years in China under Hsü-t'ang of the same line,
and then again under Lan-ch'i for three years after returning to Japan. Musō began his career
under I-shan I-ning, left for a while to seek another master, returned, and then left again to
work under Kōhō Kennichi. Kanzan Egen, one of Daitō's two principal disciples, was fifty
years old and an experienced monk when he first met Daitō; he received Daitō's sanction as a
Dharma heir after only three years. At the same time, the independence of students was
limited by propriety and lineage affiliations. In one extreme case, Chōgan Engetsu ( 1300-
1375) suffered ostracism and even threats on his life because he changed Zen masters in a
manner that was considered improper.

In 1304 Daitō left Kōhō's temple in Kamakura and traveled west to Kyoto, where he found
Nanpo at Tōkō-an temple. The first Nanpo- Daitō interview, which was relatively brief, began
as follows:

The Master [ Daitō ] said, "I have come a long way to receive your guidance—please
grant me a brief interview." Nanpo replied, "I am getting old, and my strength has
waned. Sit down for a while and have some tea." The Master said, "If that is how you
deal with this, I'm afraid I cannot accept it." Nanpo said, "You are just a new arrival.
How can you know about this matter?" The Master responded, "For gentlemen, isn't
the wind the same over a thousand- mile distance?" 23

This exchange follows a classic pattern of Zen mondō. When Nanpo humbly parries the
newcomer's request for guidance, he expresses the

-34-

Zen tenet that fundamentally there is nothing to teach and nothing a student can acquire that
he does not already have. His reply also functions as a kind of test, a way of probing Daitō's
understanding. Daitō's reaction is bold: "Don't kid me!" Then Nanpo challenges him more
directly. Again Daitō demands to be taken seriously, by alluding to a Confucian maxim about
the essential equality of "gentlemen." His response also recalls a famous answer given by the
Sixth Patriarch of Ch'an, Hui-neng, upon meeting his teacher: "Although my barbarian's body
and your body are not the same, what difference is there in our Buddha-nature?" 24 The newly
ordained Daitō is characteristically fearless and quick-witted even in the presence of a
venerable Zen master like Nanpo.

Sometime after this encounter Nanpo assigned Daitō the koan "An Ox Passes Through the
Window," perhaps at Daitō's request. The koan appears in a number of Ch'an texts, including
the thirteenth-century koan collection called the Gateless Barrier (Wu-men-kuan):

Wu-tsu Fa-yen said, "An ox passes through the window. His head, horns, and four legs
all go through. But why can't the tail pass too?" 25

This koan is considered to be one of the most difficult in Zen. According to a standard
interpretation, it deals with the traces of delusion or pride (the tail) that remain after
enlightenment (the ox going through), though sometimes the tail itself is taken as a symbol of
enlightenment or Buddha-nature. Others insist that the koan does not involve symbols at all.
We do not know how long Daitō worked on this koan or how much interaction he had with
Nanpo during this phase of his training. The records merely state that Daitō eventually

29
expressed his understanding of the koan to his teacher in two capping phrases, those cryptic
comments that later characterized his Zen style. According to Shunsaku, Daitō first replied,
"Crooked mind is apparent." He may have been saying to Nanpo, "I see your intention to
entrap me with that question, but the tail has already passed for me." The comment could also
be directed at Wu-tsu Fa-yen, who originally formulated the koan. This response did not
satisfy Nanpo, who urged Daitō to probe more deeply. Three days later Daitō gave his second
reply: "To listen to the empty words of the fortune-teller." Here the words of a soothsayer
suggest something illusory or delusional, so Daitō may be asserting that those who are still
troubled by the tail are deluded by something nonexistent, by a self-created problem. Nanpo
still was not satisfied, but he spurred Daitō on with a single comment, "You have gotten
close." 26 His language recalls Kōhō's remark to Daitō at the end of their mondō about the wild
wind and the fan: "You nearly saw it but went right past."

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The specific nature of Daitō's koan practice remains obscure, because the material provided
by his biographers is so fragmentary. Capping phrases appear to have played a key role in his
early training, though it never becomes clear whether he succeeded in answering the "Ox
Passes Through the Window" koan. The eighteenth-century biographer Kokai, perhaps
sensing this gap, asserts that Daitō "investigated and solved nearly two hundred koans" during
the next year. 27 In any case, the bond between master and disciple intensified and deepened.
Nanpo reportedly told Daitō: "You are a natural monk. Surely you are someone who has been
practicing the Way for longer than one or two lifetimes." 28 When Nanpo fell ill for ten days,
he closed his door to all of his students except Daitō. In 1305, when Nanpo moved from
Tōkō-an to another Kyoto temple, Manjuji, he took Daitō with him as his personal attendant.

Sometime during the two-year period at Manjuji, Daitō was given the koan "Barrier," the full
version of which is called "Ts'ui-yen's Eyebrows" or "Ts'ui-yen Instructs the Assembly at
Summer's End." A seminal rendering of this koan is found in the Blue Cliff Record:

At the end of the summer retreat, Ts'ui-yen said to the assembly, "All summer long
I've been talking to you. Look and see if my eyebrows are still there." Pao-fu said, "In
his heart the thief is afraid." Ch'angch'in said, "They've grown." Yün-men said,
"Barrier." 29

Ts'ui-yen Ling-ts'an, an influential tenth-century Ch'an master, alludes to an adage that one's
eyebrows will fall out if one talks too much or teaches erroneously. Having just finished a
series of sermons during the summer training session, he seems to be asking, "Did I violate
the ineffable Dharma when I spoke about it?" In the traditional Zen interpretation, Ts'ui-yen
was not particularly concerned about having erred; his primary intention was to set up a test
for his disciples. Using something as concrete and familiar as "eyebrows," he frames the
problem in terms of existence and nonexistence. The first disciple suggests (indirectly) that
the eyebrows are not there, the second says that they are; but either answer, by itself, is one-
sided. Then Yün-men Wenyen ( 862?-949) says, "Barrier" (Ch. kuan; Jp. kan), as in a tollgate
or a frontier pass. Yün-men's one word also has the force of a command: "Stop!" or "Shut
up!" In Zen practice this "Barrier" is regarded as an expression of the realm that transcends
duality—by refusing to get caught in an either/or formulation, Yün-men escapes Ts'ui-yen's
trap.

30
According to Shunsaku, Daitō first answered the koan with the capping phrase "To add error
to error." This response implies that Ts'uiyen's question erred, but so did Yün-men's reply,
which somehow made matters worse. Zen language, because of its multifaceted nature, can

-36-

express censure and praise simultaneously; in that case, Yün-men's "error" (deft response)
also rectified Ts'ui-yen's "error" (penetrating question), thereby resolving the whole situation.
Nanpo told Daitō that he must go even deeper into the koan: "That is all right, but you still
must grasp the essence of 'Barrier.' Then one day your whole life will be different." 30

Satori at Kenchōji

At the end of 1307, Daitō and Nanpo left Manjuji in Kyoto and went to Kamakura. Daitō was
twenty-five, Nanpo seventy-two. Nanpo became abbot of Kamakura's prestigious Kenchōji
temple on the twenty-ninth day of the twelfth month. Two or three years had passed since
Daitō was first assigned the koan "Barrier," and he still had not resolved it. Biographer
Shunsaku does not attempt to describe Daitō's practice or suggest the vicissitudes of Daitō's
inner life; he simply reports on the climax of the process:

Less than ten days had passed [at Kenchōji] when the Master [ Daitō ] tossed a key
onto a desk. In that instant he broke through "Barrier." He attained a boundless satori
of complete interpenetration in which the great Dharma was fully manifest. Sweat
covered his body. 31

A profound awakening experience resists verbal expression, though Shunsaku attempts to

convey its impact by resorting to conventional phrases. The one time Daitō spoke directly of
the event, at the inauguration of Daitokuji, he used metaphoric language. Offering incense, he
said:

This incense is within Master Yün-men's "Barrier," an inexplicable koan that I could
not resolve for the longest time. When I was at Kenchōji near Kamakura, I grasped
this incense, and since that time its fragrance has filled the air. 32

Once a practitioner has reached the requisite state of ripeness, usually after years of intense
inner questioning, a seemingly insignificant event can trigger awakening. Given this state of
readiness, enlightenment can also be generated from within, independent of any noticeable
external stimulus. In Daitō's case, there may have been something about the tossing of the key
that precipitated the experience: the sharp sound of metal striking wood, the sight of an object
falling, or simply the act of releasing something—he had been holding tightly to "Barrier" for
years without resolving it. The numerous associations between a "key" and a "barrier" are
suggestive: perhaps Daitō had just finished unlocking a gate or a door, and something about
the act suddenly showed him the way through his own barrier. It is also possible that

-37-

there was no inherent connection between the two events (beyond their simultaneity). In that
case, the breakthrough could just as easily have come when Daitō was washing his face the
next morning.

31
Even within the Zen tradition, accounts of enlightenment experiences vary widely in setting,
narrative detail, and emotional intensity. Chronologically, the closest point of comparison to
Daitō is Musō, who came to awakening about three years earlier, at the age of thirty-one.
Though Musō had trained formally in major monasteries, he was living alone in a secluded
hermitage in the town of Usuba, Hitachi province (present Ibaraki prefecture). One evening at
the end of the fifth month, Musō did zazen outdoors until after midnight and then went inside
to go to bed. In the darkness he reached out to support himself against a wall, but he
misjudged its location and stumbled to the floor. In that instant of surprise he experienced
enlightenment. Musō's Chronicle does not explicitly state that Musō awakened, nor does it
attempt to describe the experience; it merely reports that Musō composed his satori poems. 33

Daitō, certain that he had penetrated Yün-men's "Barrier," rushed to his teacher and
exclaimed, "Almost the same path!" He thereby affirmed the essential oneness of his own
spiritual path with the path of Yün-men and, by extension, the entire lineage of Ch'an/Zen
masters. It must have been as evident to Nanpo as it was to his disciple that the koan had been
resolved, because this time Nanpo did not test Daitō or evaluate his verbal response. Instead
he related an experience of his own:

Nanpo was greatly surprised. "Last night," he exclaimed, "I dreamt that Master Yün-
men entered my room. Today you penetrated 'Barrier.' You must be a second Yün-
men!" The Master [ Daitō ] covered his ears and left. 34

Nanpo's intuition that Daitō was spiritually bonded to Yün-men (prompting Daitō to cover his
ears in a gesture of humility) eventually gained wide acceptance in Rinzai Zen. Yün-men
Wen-yen, one of the leading lights of T'ang dynasty Ch'an, founded a lineage that flourished
under his name for three hundred years before it was absorbed into the Lin-chi school.
Renowned for his incisive one-word answers, Yün-men is credited with the creation of
hundreds of koans, including eight in the Blue Cliff Record and five in the Gateless Barrier.
Whether or not Nanpo actually had such a timely dream, it appears that Daitō himself felt a
close affinity with Yün-men after struggling for years with Yüin-men's "Barrier." Daitō
greatly admired the masterful use of language by Yün-men and his religious heirs; he was
especially drawn to the writings of Hsüeh-tou Ch'ung-hsien ( 980-1052), a third-

-38-

generation descendant in Yün-men's line. Yün-men did not allow his disciples to build the
customary memorial hall, and Daitō gave a similar order at the time of his death. One further
connection may be coincidental. Because of the manner in which Yün-men attained satori
(tradition claims that a gate was slammed on his leg), his leg was injured. Daitō also had an
injured leg by the end of his life, yet both men nonetheless insisted on dying in the full-lotus
posture. The apparent link between Yün-men and Daitō was made into a felicitous koan that
is still used by the monks of Daitokuji:

Daitō Kokushi is called the reincarnation of Yün-men, but they were separated by
several hundred years. What was he doing all that time? 35

Daitō was the first native Japanese Zen master to be identified in this way with a seminal
Ch'an master, a pairing that symbolizes his exceptional mastery of Ch'an. One hundred years
after Daitō, the Japanese Zen master Ikkyū Sōjun ( 1394-1481) identified himself with the
Chinese master Hsü-t'ang ( Nanpo's teacher). As James Sanford has noted,

32
 [ Ikkyū ] came to consider himself not simply a spiritual descendant of the Chinese
monk [ Hsü-t'ang ] but his veritable reincarnation. This more than half-seriously held
conviction found repeated expression not only in Ikkyū's poems, but even more
interestingly in two paintings done by members of his circle. Though nominally
likenesses of Ikkyū, these pieces each have the beard and moustache of a famous
depiction of Hsü-t'ang added over Ikkyū's features so as to bring both men into a
single portrait. 36

Such developments show how ardently the Japanese Zen monks sought to embrace and
internalize Ch'an.

On the day following his enlightenment, Daitō presented two written verses to his teacher.
The rare document duplicated in Figure 1 is the earliest extant record in Daitō's own hand:

I've broken through Cloud Barrier— the living way is north south east and west.
Evenings I rest, mornings I play, no other no self.
With each step a pure breeze rises.

Cloud Barrier pierced, the old path's gone— clear sky bright sun my true home.
Activity's wheel turns freely beyond men.
Golden Kāōyapa departs, hands clasped on his chest.

Following the poems, Daitō wrote to Nanpo:

-39-

FIGURE 1. Daitō'S TWO ENLIGHTENMENT VERSES, WITH A RESPONSE BY HIS

MASTER. COURTESY OF DAITOKUJI.

This is my inner state. If it is acceptable to you, Master, I bow down and humbly
request a word from you. I am planning to return soon to the old capital [ Kyoto ];
your kind permission would please me greatly. 37

In the two poems Daitō expresses his profound joy and his sense of freedom through a variety
of colorful metaphors and allusions. Cloud Barrier is a contracted form of Yün-men (literally,
"Cloud-gate") and "Barrier," the koan that precipitated Daitō's awakening. Penetrating the
Cloud Barrier, Daitō simultaneously plumbed the koan, the former master, and the deluded
aspect of his own mind; the vanishing of clouds to reveal a clear sky (or a full moon) is a
well-known Buddhist metaphor for enlightenment. Other images in the poems reinforce the
sensation that all obstructions have disappeared. The absence of self and other (more literally,
"host" and "guest") points to a transcendental awareness beyond ordinary subjectivity. In the
first line of the second verse, "the old path's gone" indicates the radical nature of Daitō's
experience —his old self is gone, and he even forgets what brought him to his present
wonderful state. At the same time he has forged his own new path, no longer relying on
buddhas or patriarchs. Activity's wheel is the mysterious functioning of his own satori,
incomprehensible to others. Kāōyapa, the Buddha's disciple who is said to have received a
wordless

-40-

33
transmission of Dharma, came to be honored as the second Indian patriarch of Zen. In Daitō's
verse Kāōyapa departs deferentially because he is no longer needed—such is Daitō's
confidence that he is now an authentic recipient of the Buddha's Dharma.

These two verses attest to the central role of poetry in Ch'an/Zen and in Daitō's own
development. Upon attaining enlightenment, a Zen monk was not expected to preach a
sermon, write a treatise, observe silence, or do as he pleased; he was supposed to write a
poem that expressed his Zen understanding. Simply on the basis of an enlightenment poem or
two, masters were thought to be able to assess the depth of the writer's realization, even across
considerable gaps of time or culture. Originally, enlightenment poems were also presented as
calligraphy, a practice that intensified the link between religious experience and aesthetic
expression.

Nanpo wrote his response to the poems directly on the scroll submitted by Daitō, so his words
have also been preserved:

You have already cast away brightness and united with darkness. I am not equal to
you. Because of you, my school will become firmly established. Before making this
sanction public, you must continue your spiritual cultivation for twenty years. 38

Nanpo's prediction that Daitō would assure the survival of his lineage echoes traditional
language, yet it was confirmed by later developments. The early biographies, having
established Daitō's spiritual credentials, provide no further information on the interaction
between Daitō and his teacher. Kokai's edition of the Chronicle merely notes that Nanpo gave
Daitō a purple robe as an emblem of Dharma transmission.

The Making of a Zen Master

When Nanpo told Daitō, "Before making this sanction public, you must continue your
spiritual cultivation for twenty years," he was standing within an ancient Buddhist tradition.
The canonical term for the spiritual practice that comes after enlightenment is shōtaichōyō:
"sustained nurturing of the sacred embryo [of insight or truth]." One of the earliest uses of this
expression is found in a fifth-century Chinese translation of the Prajñāpāramitā Sutra on
Benevolent Kings Protecting Their Countries. 39 In Ch'an texts the phrase first appears in the
writings of the Chinese master Ma-tsu Tao-i ( 709-788), 40 and in the Sung period the
Japanese pilgrim Dōgen Kigen learned it from his teacher T'ien-t'ung Ju-ching ( 1163-1228).
41

During the T'ang era in China, the notion of postenlightenment cultivation became closely
associated with another ideal, that of the rec

-41-

luse. Ch'an master Fen-chou Wu-yeh ( 762-823), for example, claimed that the ancient sages
"erased their traces and completely forgot the world" for twenty or thirty years. 42 The figure
of twenty years itself acquired special status in conjunction with notions of cultivation and
seclusion. For most Buddhists, "twenty years" evoked the Lotus Sutra parable of the prodigal
son, who wandered in poverty for two decades before returning home. Other references are

34
found in Ch'an: Lin-chi reportedly trained under Huang-po for twenty years, and a verse by
Hsüeh-tou laments, "For twenty years I have suffered bitterly." 43

In most religions one finds figures of speech that are later interpreted literally (often with
serious repercussions). Daitō, his biographers, and his religious heirs all took pride in what
they considered to be Daitō's scrupulous fulfillment of his teacher's injunction. When Daitō
became the founding abbot of Daitokuji in 1326, he compared his enlightenment at Kenchōji
to the fragrance of incense and then stated, "Though I stored this fragrance in a bag for twenty
years, the more it was hidden, the more it became manifest." 44 Kokai emphatically makes the
same point:

From the time the Master received Nanpo's sanction in the second year of Tokuji
[ 1307 ] until the time of this ceremony, exactly twenty years had elapsed. Earlier, in
the Shōchō era [ 1324-1326 ], the abbot's seat at Nanzenji had become vacant, and
Emperor Go-Daigo had invited the Master three times to take the position, but he had
declined. The Master's period of spiritual cultivation accorded with his master's
instructions exactly, like the two matching pieces of a tally. 45

Daitō's period of postenlightenment cultivation spawned a number of legendary and

semilegendary accounts that significantly affected his image and his Zen legacy. For those
who have a passing familiarity with the leading figures of Japanese Zen, the first picture of
Daitō that may come to mind is a beggar under a bridge, based on the traditional account of
the master's years of seclusion:

It is said that he really spent them living among the beggars under the Gojō Bridge in
Kyoto, quite indistinguishable from his ragged associates. Eventually, so the story has
it, Emperor Hanazono heard of him, and wished to invite him to preach at his palace.
Having also heard that this unusual beggar was fond of a certain melon known as
makuwa-uri, the Emperor went to the Gojō Bridge in disguise carrying a large basket
of the fruit. There he handed the melons to the beggars one by one, carefully scanning
each face as he did so. Noticing one with unusually brilliant eyes, the Emperor said, as
he offered the melon, "Take this without using your hands." The immediate response
was, "Give it to me without using your hands." 46

-42-

One of the earliest references to Daitō's alleged twenty years of begging near the Gojō Bridge
is a poem by Ikkyū, composed on an anniversary of Daitō's death. Ikkyū had just read
Shunsaku's Exploits, and he felt that the biographer had glossed over the hardships endured by
Daitō during these years. The first line of Ikkyū's poem plays on the literal meaning of Daitō's
name, "Great Lamp":

After Reading the Exploits of National Master Daitō

Holding aloft this Great Lamp would illuminate heaven.

Imperial carriages jostled before the Dharma hall
but no one recorded his life of wind and water
for twenty years at the Gojō Bridge. 47

35
Another influential proponent of this depiction of Daitō was Zen master Hakuin. A Hakuin
text of 1750 may be the first published version of the melon story, 48 and Hakuin painted
many expressive portraits of Daitō as a bearded and barefoot beggar, alms bowl in hand, his
tattered robe covered by a straw cloak. On one of these portraits (figure 2), Hakuin wrote the
following poem:

Wearing a straw mat among the beggars,

through his greed for sweet melons
he's been taken alive.
"If you give me the fruit without using your hands
I'll enter your presence without using my feet." 49

Ikkyū and Hakuin both turned to poetry when they sought to appraise or mold Daitō's story.
Ikkyū was commenting on a text, and Hakuin was inscribing a portrait, yet poetry satisfied
their needs in both cases. Hakuin's colorful stanza may even be seen as an answer to Ikkyū's
call for a more intimate depiction of Daitō's life as a beggar. Nearly three centuries after
Ikkyū composed his versified memo, it received a suitably poetic reply.

Casting Daitō in the role of a mendicant has rich mythic nuances. In many cultures, gods or
sages have disguised themselves as beggars when they entered the world to test or assist
ordinary mortals. Mendicancy carries additional meaning in Buddhism: Shakyamuni himself
lived on the alms collected daily in his bowl, and a ritualized form of begging was retained in
most schools of Asian Buddhism. Chinese pilgrims who encountered an old beggar in the
vicinity of the sacred Mt. Wu-t'ai wondered if they had seen the bodhisattva Mañjuōrō in one
of his favorite guises. A twelfth-century Japanese text, Tales of Times Now Past (Konjaku
monogatari), reaffirmed: "Among beggars, in the present as well as the past, there are
incarnations of buddhas and bodhisattvas." 50

-43-

www.terebess.hu/zen/hakuin/hakuin56.html
FIGURE 2. Daitō AS A BEGGAR, BY ZEN MASTER HAKUIN.
COURTESY OF EISEI BUNKO FOUNDATION.

-44-

Although Daitō did not refer specifically to begging in his itten works, he did exalt poverty as
a reflection of spiritual integrity.

If we move from hagiography to history, it is possible to reconstruct several of Daitō's

activities during the years preceding the inauguration of Daitokuji. On the twenty-ninth day of
the twelfth month, 1308, Nanpo Jōmyō died at the age of seventy-three. Daitō had resolved
the koan "Barrier" at the beginning of that year and had remained at Kenchōji to continue his
training. After Nanpo's funeral service and an appropriate period of mourning, Daitō left
Kamakura and returned to Kyoto in 1309. Rather than seek another teacher or attempt a
pilgrimage to China, he moved into a small temple called Ungo-an in eastern Kyoto. Though
none of Ungo-an's buildings remain, it was located in the area where the Yasaka pagoda and
Kōdaiji temple stand today. Only a few blocks away is the prominent Rinzai Zen temple
Kenninji, founded in 1202 by Myōan Eisai ( 1141-1215). 51 A few more short blocks to the
west is the Kamo River, which runs north-to-south through Kyoto. Of the many bridges that

36
cross this river, the one closest to the probable site of Ungo-an is the Gojō Bridge, where the
local beggars are said to have congregated.

This entire section of Kyoto had the qualities of a sacred space in the religious minds of the
medieval age. Mt. Hiei, the dominant peak in the Higashiyama hills, was considered a sacred
mountain, responsible for protecting the city from any malevolent influences emanating from
the northeast. When Eisai built Kenninji, he compared the Kamo River to the Ganges, India's
holy river. And he likened his new temple to India's Jetavana Grove(vihāra), where
Shakyamuni taught his assembled disciples. The present name of this area, Gion, is a
contraction of Giju Gikkodoku-on, the Japanese transliteration for Jetavana Vihāra.

So little is known about Daitō's activities during the Ungo-an period that we cannot even
assess the begging stories with any degree of confidence. Some modern commentators accept
them at face value; others dismiss them entirely. D. T. Suzuki writes, "Daitō Kokushi lived
the life of a beggar for more than twenty years and tasted the lowest levels of human life." 52
Jon Covell claims that "Daitō actually spent only about five years begging at the Gojō
Bridge," though Covell offers no evidence to support this estimate. 53 Several Japanese
scholars believe that Daitō joined the beggars under the Gojō Bridge by day and returned to
Ungo-an in the evening. 54 Shunsaku merely states (in the passage that disappointed Ikkyū):
"The Master returned to the capital and resided east of the river. Only six or seven monks
joined him. He threw himself so completely into the hard work that he was oblivious to cold
and hunger." 55

Had Daitō actually spent twenty years as a beggar near the Gojō

-45-

Bridge, it is highly unlikely that he could have achieved the mastery of Ch'an literature that he
later exhibits in his Dharma lectures, his poems, and his commentaries. 56 Only one dated
manuscript survives from Ungo-an, yet it suggests that Daitō became more of a scholar than a
beggar during his years of shōtaichōyō. The extant document is a complete transcription of
the Transmission of the Lamp (Ching-te ch'uan-teng lu) in Daitō's own hand, with a
postscript. Originally compiled by Tao yüan in the tenth century and later edited by Yang I
(968-1024), the Transmission of the Lamp presents biographies of nearly a thousand Ch'an
monks and lists the names of another seven hundred. In Japanese Zen of the Muromachi
period it was the most revered of the Ch'an classics. By his own testimony, Daitō made his
copy in forty days, a short time for such a painstaking task and a clear indication of the
intensity of his exertion. His postscript states:

This is indeed the spiritual activity of a thousand sages, the life-artery of the heroic
patriarchs. It goes beyond even the "elusive" and the "rarefied" [of Lao-tzu ]. It
exceeds by far the land of ultimate truths and principles. Broad and vast, deep and
profound, it cannot be fathomed, it cannot ever be known. Much less could anyone
hope to be capable of tracing its vestiges in ink. It would be like gouging out wounds
on a healthy body. And yet for forty days my brush never left my hand. There are
thirty chapters, filled with great and varied circumstances. It would take a
craftsmanship altogether beyond my small ability even to begin to do justice to them.

Copied in the second year of Shōwa [ 1313 ], on the twenty-third day of the fifth
month, by the rustic monk Myōchō. 57

37
Two other transcriptions by Daitō, both undated, are also thought to come from his Ungo-an
period. In one, he recorded some verses from the White Cloud Collection (Po-yün chi), a
compilation of about 150 poems by the celebrated Yüan dynasty poet Shih-ying Shih-ts'un. 58
The fact that one of the first texts in Daitō's hand is a copybook of poems implies an early
absorption in the genre, and it is worth noting that the poetry he chose to reproduce came
from outside the Ch'an/Zen tradition. In the second document, Daitō copied the discourse
record of Ta-ch'uan P'u-chi ( 1179-1253), author of a comprehensive history of Ch'an called A
Compendium of the Five Lamps (Wu-teng hui-yüan). 59 As Daitō transcribed this respected
Ch'an text, he parenthetically added his own glosses, beginning a lifelong activity that came to
fruition in his capping-phrase commentaries.

During this period Daitō probably immersed himself in a wide variety of texts: the discourse
records of eminent Ch'an masters such as Lin-chi, Chao-chou, and Hsü-t'ang; koan collections
such as the BlueCliff Record

-46-

Cliff Record and perhaps the Gateless Barrier; biographies of Ch'an monks; Confucian
classics; and secular works of prose and poetry. It is safe to assume that his practice of zazen
also continued without remission. When Nanpo died, Daitō ended his formal training under a
living master, yet he used texts such as the Transmission of the Lamp as a means of
continuing his training under the greatest masters of Ch'an, testing himself with their koans
and mondō. At this level of shōtaichōyō, the scholarly "study" of Zen and the disciplined
"practice" of Zen are no longer discrete. As Daitō quietly prepared himself for the more
public phase to follow, Zen was also on the verge of a new and influential role in Japanese
society, culminating nearly a century and a half of steady growth.

-47-

4
THE FOUNDATIONS OF
JAPANESE ZEN

When Daitō spent forty days copying the Transmission of the Lamp at Ungo-an, he must have
been aware that he was not only transcribing the history of Zen but participating in it as well.
Recently sanctioned by an eminent Japanese master who had trained in China, he found
himself in a position to affect the tradition at a decisive juncture in its history. It was
becoming apparent to the monks of Daitō's generation that Zen would be successful in its new
home. Amidst this personal and historical transition, he turned to the past for bearings, for
inspiration, and for confirmation of the authenticity of his spiritual heritage. A brief review of
Zen's development in Japan will illuminate the Zen milieu that nurtured Daitō and that Daitō
was about to influence in turn.

Early Phases

The first phase of Japanese Zen began in the late twelfth century. 1 Tendai monks traveled to
China, found that Ch'an was the dominant school of Sung Buddhism, and brought its
teachings back to Japan. Such pilgrimages were made possible by the resumption of contact

38
between China and Japan after a lapse of nearly three hundred years. For both countries the
lure of trade could no longer be resisted: the Chinese sought swords, fans, and screens from
their island neighbor; the Japanese valued brocades, incense, and tea found only on the
mainland. With the renewal of official relations, the Japanese struggled to master the
advanced techniques used by the Chinese to build and sail seaworthy ships.

Japan was as eager to import Chinese culture as it was to sample Chi

-48-

nese goods. The monks who accompanied the trading vogages also served as the leading
transmitters of the latest developments in Chinese government, technology, art, and religion.
Interest in China's religious resources was heightened by discontent with the domestic
Buddhist establishment of twelfth-century Japan. Critics accused the entrenched Tendai and
Shingon sects of worldliness, elitism, and laxity in monastic life. One response to these
perceived flaws was the spread of radical new doctrines that claimed that salvation was open
to all, especially through the grace of Amida or the potency of the Lotus Sutra. A second
response, demanding a return to monastic purity, reaffirmed the more traditional stance that
salvation was achieved through one's own spiritual exertions, however arduous. The pioneers
of Japanese Zen belonged to this second movement, which attempted to recover its Buddhist
roots in China or even in India.

The first Japanese figure to go to China in quest of Ch'an teachings was Kakua, the Tendai
monk from Mt. Hiei. Hearing from a merchant that Ch'an was ascendant on the mainland,
Kakua and a fellow monk left Japan in 1171. At Ling-yin-ssu temple in Hangchow, Kakua
encountered Hsia-t'ang Hui-yüan, a disciple of the famous Ch'an master Yüan-wu K'o-ch'in
( 1063-1135). Unable to speak Chinese, Kakua was forced to converse with Hsia-t'ang
through an exchange of written notes. Before his return in 1175 he achieved enlightenment
and received his master's formal certification. The Genkō [ Era ] Record of Buddhism (Genkō
Shakusho), composed in 1322, describes Kakua's reception in Japan: "In the Kaō era [ 1169-
1175 ] the Emperor heard of Kakua's Ch'an practice. He invited the monk to court and asked
him about the essentials of Ch'an. In reply Kakua played a flute.... The Emperor and his
retainers did not understand." 2

Even if this story is apocryphal, it illustrates how strange Ch'an must initially have appeared
to most Japanese. Kakua had little impact on the Buddhist world of his day, and he failed to
produce any religious heirs. Yet he was the first Japanese monk to be included in Chinese
histories of Ch'an, recognized as the earliest transmitter of Sung dynasty Ch'an to his native
country.

The early phase of Japanese Zen has been labeled "syncretic" because Ch'an teachings and
practices were initially combined with familiar Tendai and Shingon forms. 3 For example,
monks at a given temple might become ordained and study sutras in the Tendai manner, yet
follow a Zen style of meditation. This tendency was in part a response to political realities—
Zen provoked considerable opposition from the established sects and the emerging popular
faiths. At the same time, just as Chinese Ch'an embraced elements common to Sung
Buddhism, areas of fundamental congruence between Zen and older schools

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39
of Japanese Buddhism were recognized in Japan. Tendai especially had incorporated certain
Ch'an/Zen elements earlier in its development, because its Japanese founder, Saichō, had
brought Ch'an texts from China in the early ninth century. Zen's coexistence with the
established sects was centered on Kyoto and lasted about half a century, roughly from 1200 to
1250.

An anomaly during this early period was the short-lived Daruma school, established by the
monk Dainichi Nōnin (d. 1196?). A self-proclaimed Zen master who never went to China,
Nōnin taught a brand of Zen that challenged the value of many customary Buddhist practices.
He claimed that his teachings were based on the Ch'an texts that had been in Japan since
Saichō's era, such as three treatises attributed to Bodhidharma. The considerable impact of
Nōnin's Zen in the Kyoto area is known from the intensity of the opposition it aroused at the
time. One early account, by an author partial to Myōan Eisai's lineage, asserted that Eisai
"debated several times with Nōnin on doctrinal matters and eventually defeated him." 4 After
Nōnin's death, a number of his heirs joined the community of monks led by Dōgen. Scholars
have recently concluded that the Daruma school had discernible influence on Dōgen's
teachings and the subsequent development of Sōtō Zen. 5

Zen itself might have been absorbed into Tendai or Shingon, without achieving an
independent identity, had it not been for two factors: powerful patrons began to support the
fledgling sect, and several distinguished Ch'an masters arrived from China. These
developments engendered a period of growth and consolidation that lasted nearly a century,
from about 1250 to 1340, during which Kamakura displaced Kyoto as the hub of the Zen
world. The patrons attracted to Zen included nobles, provincial governors, members of the
imperial family, and—most critically—the Hōjō regents of the Kamakura shogunate.
Following a pattern set by the fifth regent, Hōjō Tokiyori ( 1227-1263), several of the Hōjō
leaders became disciples of émigré Chinese masters, built and endowed Zen monasteries, and
enforced monastic regulations. The Hōjō were sincerely impressed by the Zen masters they
met, and they saw that association with Zen bolstered their cultural credentials. Alert to new
ways of exercising influence over the country's religious institutions, they inaugurated the
system of officially ranked Zen monasteries known as the Five Mountains (Gozan). In 1299
Jōchiji was designated the first Gozan temple, and three other Kamakura temples were added
in 1310. Within the next half-century (under the Ashikaga) three hundred Zen monasteries
would eventually be brought into the Gozan network. 6

In Zen circles it was a source of pride that the Hōjō rulers who repulsed the Mongols were
among the first Zen students in Japan.

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Musō lauded Hōjō Tokiyori and his son Hōjō Tokimune in the following manner:

In the Kamakura period the Zen disciple Hōjō Tokiyori revered the Zen Dharma and
built Kenchōji.... In the Kōan period [ 1278- 1287 ] the world was in an uproar
because the Mongols were invading. The lay disciple Hōjō Tokimune, however,
remained composed, and every day he summoned Zen master Wu-hsüeh Tsu-yüan,
then head of Kenchōji, or various experienced Zen monks, and they would speak about
matters of Dharma. This attitude was so praiseworthy that it was noted in Wu-hsüeh's
Record. Later, Tokimune built Engakuji, continuing to foster the prosperity of the Zen
school. Isn't this the reason why the Mongols did not destroy our country? The world

40
 was kept secure during the two generations of father and son, and both men are
reported to have died in an exemplary manner. 7

During this period of growth and consolidation, interaction between the worlds of Chinese
Ch'an and Japanese Zen increased. Japanese monks went to China hoping to return with
Chinese masters, and Chinese masters urged Japanese students to carry Ch'an teachings back
to Japan. Some Chinese masters in Japan arranged for promising Japanese disciples to acquire
further training on the continent, as in the case of Nanpo. A number of Japanese pilgrims
remained in China for decades, and several ended their lives there. Of course, the relationship
was not always harmonious—a few of the émigré Ch'an monks were accused of spying for
the Mongols, and at least one Ch'an master, unhappy with what he found in Japan, abruptly
went back to China.

Though Japan and China were again in contact, they were still separated by enormous cultural
gaps, nowhere more evident than in the world of Zen. The first Zen monasteries in Japan,
constructed and administered in accord with Chinese precedents, seemed strangely foreign in
their new setting. The design and placement of their buildings differed from the architecture
of existing Buddhist temples. Zen monks used unfamiliar forms of dress, etiquette, and
speech; in some temples Chinese could still be heard. Martin Collcutt has described these new
Zen monasteries as "outposts of Chinese religion and culture in medieval Japanese society," 8
an assessment that is apt for the first Kamakura monasteries though perhaps less appropriate
for the monasteries of Daitō's time.

Language was one of the most serious obstacles faced by the Japanese who aspired to
understand Zen. The classics of Ch'an were of course written in Chinese, and the peculiar
style of Ch'an texts differed from the vernacular Chinese then in use. Moreover, the Japanese
did not read or pronounce this Chinese as Chinese. Instead they marked the Chinese text so
that it could be read in Japanese, a complex process that

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involved inversions of word order and additional verb conjugations. At the outset there were
no dictionaries of Zen terms, and most texts were copied by hand (with varying degrees of
accuracy). Woodblock printing did not begin in Japan until the late Kamakura period, and its
diffusion was gradual. Consequently, many individuals who expended great energy to master
the language of Zen never achieved satisfying results. It was ironic that those wishing to enter
the sect "not dependent on words" first had to grapple with a foreign language; yet the process
may also have served positive functions consistent with Zen principles (for example, reducing
attachment to the most literal dimensions of language). In spite of these difficulties, Japanese
monks were expected to use Chinese (kanbun) for their serious written works, and kanbun
remained prominent in Japanese Zen for over five hundred years.

The arrival in Japan of Ch'an masters who could not speak Japanese presented challenges to
hosts and guests alike. Ming-chi Ch'u-chün reached Japan in 1330 and informed his Japanese
patron in verse:

I came ten thousand leagues over the seas to these shores,

knowing nothing of the language that people here spoke:
all I could make out was a babble of "ba ba ba,"
couldn't catch more than something like "li li li." 9

41
If no interpreter was present, Japanese scribes attempted to record the Chinese master's words
phonetically in the Japanese kana syllabary, though they often did not understand what they
were hearing. When possible, these transcriptions were later translated into Japanese. It is
recorded that Lan-ch'i, in an interview with Toyama, lord of Tango, said, "Maku-maa-sun,
maku-maa-sun, nyuzu kunrii fuya." A native of Szechuan, Lan-ch'i spoke a dialect that was
not the standard Chinese of the time, and his utterance was then put into Chinese characters
by another Szechuan native living in Kamakura. The characters were then translated into
Japanese as "No delusive thoughts, no delusive thoughts! It is you who are from the very
beginning Buddha." 10 A remark by master Wu-hsüeh, transcribed in a similar fashion, was
long assumed to be a koan, but it could not be deciphered. Centuries after Wu-hsüeh's death, a
later master realized that what Wu-hsüeh had said was "Come in, come in! I have something
to say to you." 11

Inevitably, the language barrier also hampered the Japanese monks who went to China. Eisai
still could not speak Chinese on his second pilgrimage to the mainland, nineteen years after
his first trip. Well- financed pilgrims customarily hired interpreters, many of whom were
merchants. The Japanese monks seemed to be less adept linguistically than students from
other nations, and few among them achieved genuine competence. One of the more able
Japanese students was Betsugen

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Enshi ( 1295-1364), whose fluent Chinese earned him the distinction of being "often mistaken
for a Korean." 12

The biographies of monks such as Betsugen reveal a tendency in both Japan and China to
regard skill in the composition of Chinese prose and poetry as an indication of an advanced
state of Zen understanding. A well-known example in Japan is the examination administered
by the émigré master I-shan I-ning after his arrival in Kamakura. To select disciples from
those petitioning him for instruction, I-shan tested their ability to compose Zen-style verse in
Chinese. The young Musō Soseki was one of the monks ranked in the highest category. It
would not be long before Japanese monks began to make explicit assertions about the
connection between Zen and poetry, as will be seen below.

The language barrier gave rise to a practice called hitsudan, literally, "brush-conversation."
Though the Japanese and the Chinese could not understand each other's spoken language, they
could all write Chinese characters. This common base enabled the Ch'an masters to instruct
their Japanese disciples through an exchange of written questions and answers. The Japanese
monks in China who relied on interpreters for most daily transactions preferred to conduct
their private interviews with Zen masters in this manner, and the same format was also used in
Japan, for example between Lan-ch'i Tao-lung and Kōhō Kennichi. Though these
conversations in hitsudan could be awkward, Ming-chi Ch'u-chün viewed the situation
poetically:

I express my mind
using a brush instead of my tongue,
and you seize my meaning
hearing my words with your eyes. 13

42
This practice survived even when both participants were Japanese, as in a written dialogue
between Daitō and Emperor Hanazono.

Besides the exchange of monks and masters, the rapid circulation of texts was another
indication of the close association between the worlds of Chinese Buddhism and Japanese Zen
between 1175 and 1358. Though the transmission of written works did not take precedence
over the introduction of teachings and practices, one of the aims of pilgrimage was the
procurement of texts. From the outset, the study and transcription of important Ch'an works
was central to Zen training in Japan. The latest Chinese koan collections, biographies of
eminent monks, and monastic codes were known in Japan within a few years of their
distribution on the continent. Works of Japanese masters, sent to China by admiring disciples,
sometimes earned appreciatory postscripts by Chinese masters. It was a high honor for a
Japanese monk to have his biography written by a Chinese monk and even more prestigious if
the account was included in a Chinese history of Ch'an.

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The major Ch'an biographical compilations, such as the Transmission of the Lamp that Daitō
transcribed, are found in a mid-thirteenth century catalogue of books held by Tōfukuji temple
in Kyoto. 14 By the time of Daitō's death in 1337, the Blue Cliff Record and the Gateless
Barrier, two classic koan collections, had also reached Japan. The exact date of the Blue Cliff
Record's transmission is not known, though a traditional account claims that Dōgen made a
copy of it in 1227, on his last night in China before returning to Japan. Although it is
unimaginable that this lengthy work could have been transcribed so quickly, the text
attributed to Dōgen, known as the One-Night Blue Cliff Record, is housed in Daijōji temple in
Kanazawa. In the early fourteenth century the Blue Cliff Record was republished in China by
Chang Ming-yōan. Chang's edition, which was based on two previously published woodblock
texts and surviving handwritten copies, reached Japan shortly thereafter, and it is the version
still in use today. Daitō was among the first in Japan to focus on the Blue Cliff Record,
commenting line by line on the entire text with capping phrases.

The introduction of the Gateless Barrier to Japan can be dated precisely. The Japanese monk
Shinchi Kakushin ( 1207-1298) practiced Ch'an in China under the text's compiler, Wu-men
Hui-k'ai ( 1183- 1260). When Kakushin returned to Japan in 1254, he brought his master's
koan collection with him. The émigré Chinese master Ch'ing-cho Cheng-ch'eng (Ta-chien,
1274-1339), a contemporary of Daitō, is said to have written the first commentary on this text
in Japan, yet this work apparently has been lost. The Gateless Barrier currently in use in
Japan is based on a Japanese edition of 1405.

Though the two major koan collections were transmitted to Japan by the beginning of the
Muromachi era, their impact on Japanese Zen differed considerably. During the medieval
period the Blue Cliff Record, more complex and more literary, was widely used and admired.
It provided an important stimulus to the cultural movement known as "the literature of the
Five Mountains" (Gozan bungaku), which spread beyond the confines of the Zen monasteries.
The Gateless Barrier did not achieve comparable stature until the seventeenth century. By
that time the monks' ability to read Chinese (as kanbun) had declined, and they found Wu-
men's text to be structurally simpler and linguistically more accessible than the Blue Cliff
Record. 15

43
 Genealogies of the First Transmitters

Lines of descent are of great importance in many realms of East Asian society, and they are
especially emphasized in Japan. Zen is regarded by its adherents as a spiritual lineage that can
be traced back through the patriarchs of China and India to Shakyamuni Buddha himself. The

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numerous divisions and subdivisions of the Zen school are sometimes diagramed in the
manner of a family tree, and they have been compared to "cousins who accept each other's
claims to membership in the extended clan, but who prefer to think of themselves as
representing the most direct line of descent." 16

During the two centuries following Kakua's return from China in 1175, various lines of Ch'an
were transmitted to Japan. A 1677 exposition of this transmission, still accepted within
Japanese Rinzai Zen, identified forty-six such transmissions (den). 17 Among these,
twentyfour were singled out as streams (ryō) or branches (ha) that took hold through a
succession of disciples. The first monk in each of these streams is called a so, a term with a
number of possible English renderings: ancestor, patriarch, founder, pioneer. The men
recognized in this way were almost equally divided between Japanese pilgrims and Chinese
émigrés. Twenty-one of the streams were of the Lin-chi (Rinzai) school, and three belonged
to the Ts'ao-tung (Sōtō) school. The first so in this scheme was not Kakua but Eisai, who
returned to Japan in 1191. The last master of the group was Daisetsu Sonō, the pilgrim who
returned in 1358. Among the Chinese émigré masters, the first to establish a Japanese stream
was Lan-ch'i Tao-lung, who arrived in 1246. And the last Chinese master to leave his mark in
Japan during this period was Tung-ling Yung-yü (d. 1365), who debarked in 1351. After 1358
the intercourse between Chinese Buddhism and Japanese Zen declined, and no new teaching
lines were established in Japan for another three hundred years.

Another important term used to express genealogical continuity in Zen is shō (Ch. tsung). It
can be translated in English as "lineage," "school," or "sect," depending on the historical
context. In China the various divisions of Ch'an were primarily a means of identifying master-
disciple lineages. At times these divisions may also have signified doctrinal or institutional
differences, but our knowledge of these traits is less certain. Nor is the boundary between
Ch'an and other. Buddhist schools always clear-cut. When speaking of early Ch'an,
"lineage(s)" is perhaps the best translation; after 960 (the beginning of the Sung period), the
designation "Ch'an school" becomes more meaningful. In Japan the boundaries between
Buddhist schools—and the divisions within them—were more distinct than in China, so the
term "sect" can be used for Japanese Zen and also for the primary divisions within it.

Recently, Bernard Faure has challenged scholars to reexamine many of the assumptions
associated with the concept of lineage or sect as used in Zen and Zen studies. Giving little
credence to the ideal of a spiritual bond between masters and their disciples, Faure argues that
lineages are formed more from without than from within:

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In other words, orthodoxy takes its shape not from its kernel—a lineage—but from its
margins, the other trends against which it reacts by rejecting or encompassing them....
By this dissolving the contours of the "sect," a concept definitely too "substantialist,"

44
 we may be able to provide a more nuanced analysis and to emphasize the various
kinds of regrouping—sociological, political, strategical, doctrinal, or geographical. 18

Recognizing the limitations of certain widely used terms, we may nonetheless identify the key
figures of the transmission process and note their traditional placement in the various
subdivisions of Ch'an and Zen. From the outset the streams of Japanese Zen formed a
configuration that differed from the Chinese antecedents, and these differences increased with
time. Dominant branches of Ch'an perished in Japan, while lines of lesser prominence
eventually triumphed there. One result of this process was that masters of relative obscurity in
China came to be regarded as great Chinese patriarchs by the Japanese.

Naturally, many Japanese and Chinese monks brought to Japan the stream of Ch'an that was
dominant at the time. In the Southern Sung period the religious mainstream was occupied by
the P'o-an line of the Yang-ch'i branch, a division of the Lin-chi school. 19 The leading figure
among the Japanese pilgrims who transmitted this P'o-an line of Ch'an was Enni Ben'en
( 1201-1280). Enni's teacher was Wu-chun Shih-fan ( 1177-1249), abbot of the preeminent
Ch'an temple in China, Chingshan. Praised by a medieval Japanese text as "the number one
Ch'an master in the world," 20 Wu-chun actively encouraged the propagation of Zen in Japan.
His disciple Enni aspired to be faithful to his master's teachings, but conditions in Japan did
not yet permit the establishment of an independent Zen sect. Instead Enni promoted a type of
Zen that incorporated elements from other schools of Chinese and Japanese Buddhism, a
response characteristic of the early conciliatory phase. The most influential Chinese monk to
bring the P'o-an line to Japan was Wu-hsüeh Tsu-yüan ( 1226-1286), another disciple of Wu-
chun Shihfan. When Wu-hsüeh arrived in 1279 he was already fifty-three years old, a senior
monk who had held important positions in major Chinese monasteries. Hōjō Tokimune
accordingly made him the founder-abbot of Engakuji monastery in Kamakura.

Many of the pioneers of Japanese Zen were heirs to streams of secondary influence on the
continent. The earliest master in this category was Eisai, who was exposed to Ch'an in 1187
on his second pilgrimage to China. At that time an undivided Yang-ch'i branch of Ch'an was
ascendant, eclipsing Huang-lung Ch'an, yet Eisai brought back second-rank Huang-lung.
Untroubled by the complexities of Chinese lineage rivalries and perhaps unable to identify the
special features of the

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Huang-lung line, Eisai equated it with all Ch'an. He also treated Ch'an as the whole of Sung
Buddhism, using designations like "Buddha Ch'an (Zen)," "Pure Ch'an," or "Tathāgata Ch'an."
21
Whereas Eisai's identification of Ch'an and Sung Buddhism has typically been seen as an
oversimplification or an expedient polemical device, recent research suggests that Eisai's
assessment was not without basis. That is, Ch'an permeated Sung Buddhism to such an extent
that the purported distinctions between the various Buddhist schools were comparatively
insignificant. 22 Upon returning to Japan in 1191, Eisai continued to regard himself as a
Tendai monk, and he willingly incorporated his version of Ch'an into a Tendai framework.
The established schools felt threatened nonetheless, and their resistance prompted Eisai to
reply that he was reviving the "T'ang dynasty Ch'an" introduced centuries earlier by the
founder of Japanese Tendai, Saichō.

Daitō's teacher Nanpo was another important early figure who introduced a less influential
Ch'an line. Nanpo trained in China under Hsüt'ang Chih-yü, a master of the Sung-yüan branch

45
of Yang-ch'i Ch'an. Hsü-t'ang served as abbot of more than ten different temples, among them
the prestigious Ching-shall, yet he never achieved the stature of Wu-chun. When Nanpo was
about to return to Japan, Hsü-t'ang encouraged him with a confident prediction: "East of the
sea, my heirs will increase daily." 23 Those who view themselves as part of a spiritual lineage
transmitted from Hsü-t'ang to Nanpo to Daitō (a group that includes most present-day Rinzai
Zen followers) believe that Hsüt'ang's vision was in fact confirmed by subsequent
developments.

Besides Nanpo, many Chinese émigré monks also represented the Sung-yüan line in Japan.
The most significant figure in this category was Lan-ch'i Tao-lung, noted above, who arrived
in Japan two decades before Nanpo's return. Through the patronage of Hōjō Tokiyori, Lanch'i
became founder-abbot of Kenchōji in Kamakura, and his appointment was a harbinger of
Zen's shift from syncretic coexistence to independence.

During these years of cultural and religious transmission, relatively obscure branches of Ch'an
were also brought to Japan. The most notable transmitter of a lesser branch was Dōgen Kigen,
an heir of T'ient'ung Ju-ching. Ju-ching belonged to the Ts'ao-tung (Sōtō) school, one of the
classic "Seven Schools" of Ch'an. But as Dōgen himself acknowledged, by the thirteenth
century Ts'ao-tung was numerically overwhelmed by the many branches of the Lin-chi
school. Upon Dōgen's return to Japan in 1227, he first attempted to promulgate Zen in
Fukakusa on the southern perimeter of Kyoto. Disappointed by his reception or impelled by
other reasons that remain unclear, he then moved north to Echizen province and built Eiheiji
monastery. 24 There he completed

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the Treasury of the True Dharma Eye (Shōbōgenzō), the work that has since earned him a
reputation as a thinker of international importance. Whereas rivalries between the various
streams of Zen did not disturb Dōgen in his early teachings, after the move to Echizen he
sharply attacked the Lin-chi/Rinzai school and some of its leading masters, claiming that Lin-
chi "never said anything original even in his dreams." 25 The Japanese Sōtō school, which has
long regarded Dōgen as its first Japanese patriarch, weathered the vicissitudes of history to
become one of the two major sects of Japanese Zen.

The Development of Koans

Kōan is a Japanese pronunciation of the Chinese word kung-an, which literally means "public
case." A koan is a spiritual puzzle that cannot be solved by the intellect alone. Though
conundrums and paradoxes are found in the secular and sacred literature of many cultures,
only in Zen have such formulations developed into an intensive method of religious training.
What gives most koans their bite, their intellect-baiting hook, is some detail that defies
conventional logic, such as the tail that cannot follow the ox through the window. Initially, a
koan may be used as the focus of concentration in seated zazen. But once the practitioner is
gripped by the koan, he or she becomes involved with it beyond the scheduled periods of
meditation. Some practitioners report that they can continue to work on koans even during
sleep. When absorption in the koan is so intense that it leads to self-forgetfulness, awakening
is said to be possible.

46
The actual development of koan practice is difficult to trace. The word kung-an first appears
in the discourse record of Ch'an master Huang-po Hsi-yün (d. 850?); in another early text one
of Huang-po's heirs tells an approaching monk, "As a ready-made koan, I spare you from
thirty blows." 26 The Blue Cliff Record merely states: "The koan arose in the T'ang and
flourished in the Sung." 27

Anecdotes and dialogues from the lives of notable Ch'an figures, whether recorded in early
biographical collections or passed around orally by itinerant monks, provided abundant source
material for the earliest Chinese koans. In these accounts, masters framed questions in
paradoxical language to test their disciples, often drawing upon incidents and objects close at
hand. For example, many dialogues in the Record of Lin-chi have a koan-like quality:

The Master [ Lin-chi ] said to the steward of the temple, "Where have you come
from?" "I've been to the provincial capital to sell the millet," answered the steward.
"Did you sell all of it?" asked the Master. "Yes, I sold all of it," replied the steward.
The Master drew a line in front of him with his staff and said, "But can you sell this?"
28

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Lin-chi did not identify any of his training methods as a kung-an (the word does not even
appear in his Record), though later in Japan "Rinzai [Lin-chi] Zen" became almost
synonymous with "koan Zen." By the early tenth century, practitioners were being instructed
to meditate upon their predecessors' enigmatic words or deeds. Nan-yüan Huiyung (d. 930)
adapted some of Lin-chi's expressions to test his students, and Yün-men Wen-yen (d. 949)
may have been the first master to assign koans in the manner that came to characterize the
Lin-chi school.

By the time that koan collections appeared in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, koans were
well-defined as a form of Ch'an practice and a genre of Ch'an literature. The earliest and
largest collection was the Blue Cliff Record, compiled in two stages. Initially, Hsüeh-tou
Ch'unghsien ( 980-1052) assembled one hundred koans from the records of former masters,
composed an appreciatory verse for each koan, and commented on fifteen of the koans with
capping phrases. About sixty years after his death, Yüan-wu K'o-ch'in ( 1063-1135) added an
introduction to most of the koans, a prose commentary to all of them, capping phrases on
individual lines of koan text, more capping phrases on each line of Hsüeh-tou's verses, and a
final commentary on Hsüeh-tou's verses. The resulting book, published in 1128, was named
after Yüanwu's "Blue Cliff" residence on Mt. Chia in Hunan. It has served for centuries as a
rich compendium of Ch'an teachings, lore, poetry, and wit. The Blue Cliff Record also reflects
the confluence of Ch'an and the literati class during the Sung period. As Robert Buswell has
noted, such koan collections "helped to bring Ch'an into the mainstream of Chinese cultural
life and also led to a fertile interchange between Ch'an and secular belles lettres." 29

Yüan-wu's disciple Ta-hui Tsung-kao ( 1089-1163) marks a peak in the development of

Chinese koan practice. Ta-hui advocated introspection of the koan's kernel, a meditation
technique called k'an-hua, "observing the [critical] phrase." Rather than pondering the koan as
a whole, practitioners try to focus their attention on its most crucial word or phrase (Ch. hua-
t'ou; Jp. watō). Continuously holding this phrase in the mind, one attempts to penetrate its
meaning. Ta-hui claimed that this method was an effective "short-cut" to practice and a path
to sudden enlightenment:

47
 If you want to understand the principle of the short-cut, you must in one fell swoop
break through this one thought—then and only then will you comprehend birth and
death. Then and only then will it be called accessing awakening.... You need only lay
down, all at once, the mind full of deluded thoughts and inverted thinking, the mind of
logical discrimination, the mind that loves life and hates death, the

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mind of knowledge and views, interpretation and comprehension, and the mind that
rejoices in stillness and turns from disturbance. 30

The type of koan practice advocated by Ta-hui was transmitted to Japan before Daitō's era
(and it still characterizes present-day Rinzai Zen). Thus when Daitō investigated the koan
"Ts'ui-yen's Eyebrows," he focused on the single word that had been designated as the koan's
watō: "barrier."

In 1229 Wu-men Hui-k'ai published his Gateless Barrier, adding brief prose comments and
verses to forty-eight selected koans. As noted above, Wu-men's text was easier to approach
than the Blue Cliff Record: it was about one-tenth the length of its predecessor; it had one
compiler instead of two; it lacked capping phrases; and its style was more straightforward and
less literary. The first koan in the Gateless Barrier came to be one of the most widely used
koans in Zen:

A monk asked Chao-chou, "Does a dog have Buddha-nature or not?" Chao-chou said,
"Mu." 31

Throughout the Sung and Yüan periods, masters assigned koans regularly and commented on
them in lectures, in prose, and in verse. Many details of the practice, however, remain hazy.
Did students have the freedom to choose koans themselves, or did masters assign them,
perhaps in a standard sequence? When students needed guidance, did they see their masters
individually or in groups? Was koan practice a formal or an informal part of the monastic
routine? How were the literary dimensions of koan practice handled? These and other
questions are not resolved by the fragmentary materials that survive from these eras.

Koans can be answered verbally or nonverbally. Naturally, verbal responses dominate the
written records, though a variety of nonverbal responses were also noted—monks and masters
would slap each other, prostrate, roll up a mat, lie down, wave their sleeves, and so on. Some
nonverbal responses were specific to a particular situation, as in case 40 of the Gateless
Barrier:

Pai-chang took a pitcher, placed it on the ground, and asked, "This must not be called
a pitcher. What do you call it?" Kuei-shan walked up, kicked over the pitcher, and left.
32

In the Record of Lin-chi there is one encounter that is completely silent:

Ta-chüeh came to see Lin-chi. The Master [ Lin-chi ] raised his whisk. Ta-chüeh
spread his mat. The Master threw down the whisk. Ta-chüeh folded up the mat and
went into the monks' hall. 33

48
Such responses still have a place in contemporary Zen: certain koans are answered by
demonstrations in which the practitioner acts out his or

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her understanding in a spontaneous and uninhibited manner. In order to express the spirit of a
koan involving an animal, for example, a student might get down on all fours and "become"
that animal. Whatever the content of a verbal or nonverbal answer, a master is primarily
concerned with the practitioner's understanding; if a master sees that a "correct" response does
not spring from the requisite mind-state, he is not supposed to accept it. The degree to which
acted-out demonstrations were used in Ch'an or in early Japanese Zen is not known. It is not
safe to assume that the answers that entered the written records were the only answers given,
yet it would also be a mistake to read contemporary answers or methods of koan training back
into the early texts. In the Record of Lin-chi, Lin-chi asked Hsing-shan, "What is the white ox
on the bare ground?" Hsing-shan answered, "Moo, moo!" 34 In cases such as this, we do not
know what kinds of nonverbal responses might have accompanied the recorded verbal
answers.

Koan Practice in Early Japanese Zen

The introduction of Ch'an to Japan stimulated fresh developments in the koan tradition. While
the effectiveness of koans was recognized by all the early masters, they also saw that their
Japanese students had difficulty relating to the classic Ch'an koans, which often seemed too
foreign, too complex, and too literary. So they added new koans to the traditional corpus.
Some were created spontaneously in response to particular situations; others were based on
passages from Buddhist texts already known in Japan. For example, the pithy Heart Sutra
included several phrases that made effective koans, and students were further challenged to
condense this sutra into just "one word." A verse from the Diamond Sutra, spoken by the
Buddha, became another koan:

If you try to see me through form

or hear me through sound,
nothing you see or hear
is where I am. 35

In order to pass this koan, a student had to be able to demonstrate how —if not through form
—one does see Buddha.

The earliest phase of Japanese Zen was centered in Kamakura, the site of the shogun's
headquarters, and many of the koans from this era were adapted for warrior disciples. A
master might ask, "If you were surrounded by a hundred enemies, how would you manage to
win without fighting or surrendering?" 36 Other koans were based on incidents (or alleged
incidents) from the lives of warriors. The following tale suggests the intensity with which
some warriors practiced Zen:

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Tadamasa, a senior retainer of Regent Hōjō Takatoki, had the Buddhist name Anzan. He was
an ardent Zen follower and for twentythree years came and went to the meditation hall for

49
laymen at Kenchōji. When the fighting broke out in 1331, he was wounded in an engagement,
but in spite of the pain he galloped to Kenchōji to see Sozan, the twenty-seventh teacher there.

A tea ceremony was in progress at Kenchōji. When Anzan arrived in full armor, Sozan
quickly put a teacup in front of the warrior and asked, "How is this?" Anzan at once crushed it
under his foot and said, "Heaven and earth broken up altogether." The teacher asked, "When
heaven and earth are broken up, how is it with you?" The warrior stood with his hands crossed
over his breast. Sozan hit him, and Anzan involuntarily cried out from the pain of his wounds.
Sozan said, "Heaven and earth are not quite broken up yet."

The drum sounded from the camp across the mountain, and Anzan galloped quickly back. The
next evening he came again, covered with blood, to see the teacher. Sozan came out and asked
again, "When heaven and earth are broken up, how is it with you?" Anzan, supporting himself
on his blood-stained sword, shouted a great "Katsu!" and died standing in front of the teacher.
37

A student working on this koan was sometimes tested with a follow-up question: "When the
elements of the body are dispersed, where are you?" 38

Some of the koans from the Kamakura period retain the flavor of the popular literature
(setsuwa bungaku) of early medieval Japan, a narrative genre in which Buddhism and folk
religion, entertainment and moral instruction, were richly intertwined. In these Kamakura
koans pilgrims have visionary dreams, supernatural beings appear and disappear, and animals
assemble to hear sermons on the Dharma, their "eyes glistening with tears." For example, a
Zen priest claims that the divine snake that guards his temple is also coiled day and night
around his own body, visible to those with the "true eye." In another koan, a Zen monk is
asked to conduct a rain-making ritual during a great drought, and he responds by urinating on
the altar. The outraged officials promptly arrest him, but on the way to police headquarters the
travelers are drenched by a downpour, and the monk is set free amidst warm apologies. 39

The leading masters of Japanese Zen were involved with koan practice in various ways.
Though Eisai's name is not ordinarily associated with koans, there is evidence that he was
among those who created them from sutra passages. Jufukuji, Eisai's temple in Kamakura, is
referred to in one early text as the "temple of the eighteen diamond koans." 40 Dōgen was
exposed to the koan-centered practice of several Lin-chi lines during his five-year stay in
China, and he later produced his own

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compilation of three hundred classic koans. When this text was rediscovered in 1766, it was
rejected as spurious by Sōtō sect adherents who insisted that Dōgen had never used koans (the
work was authenticated in 1935). Dōgen's familiarity with koans can also be seen in his
Treasury of the True Dharma Eye. In the later chapters of this book, however, he distanced
himself from Ch'an advocates of koan practice, mocking Tahui's understanding as "nothing
but a few memorized passages from the...sutras." 41 (Such comments also reflected the lineage
rivalries and political setbacks that bedeviled Dōgen after his return from China.) Among the
émigré Chinese masters, Lan-ch'i took the lead in adapting his teaching to his listeners, using
uncomplicated koans like "The One-Word Sutra" and issuing koan-like injunctions such as
"See where life comes from!" 42 Wu-hsüeh Tsu-yüan, who reached Kamakura the year after

50
Lan-ch'i's death, had achieved enlightenment through a koan, and he urged his Japanese
students to tackle classic koans as well as new ones:

At the beginning you have to take up a koan. The koan is some deep saying of a
patriarch; its effect in this world of distinctions is to make a man's gaze straight, and to
give him strength as he stands on the brink of the river bank. For the past two or three
years I have been giving in my interviews three koans: "The Original Face before
Your Parents' Birth," "The Mind, the Buddha," and "No Mind, No Buddha." For one
facing the turbulence of life-and-death, these koans clear away the sandy soil of
worldly concerns and open up the golden treasure which was there from the beginning,
the ageless root of all things. 43

Like Lan-ch'i before him, Wu-hsüeh received students formally in sanzen, the private master-
disciple encounter that became an indispensable part of koan training in Japan. His most
prominent disciple was the Hōjō regent Tokimune, who successfully defended Japan against
the Mongols. Because Wu-hsüeh did not speak Japanese, he had to deal with Tokimune
through an interpreter. Besides the language barrier, Tokimune's exalted status imposed
certain constraints on the masterdisciple relationship—when Wu-hsüeh wished to strike his
distinguished student, he administered his blows to the hapless interpreter. 44

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5
Daitō ASCENDANT
AT DAITOKUJI

One night the Master [ Daitō ] dreamed of six monks who looked like advanced
disciples of the Buddha. The most senior monk said: "The time has come for you to
become head of a temple. Why do you not go forth?"

Exploits of National Master Daitō

According to his biographers, Daitō's years of seclusion at Ungo-an were ended by a

revelatory dream in which six monks challenged him to "go forth." One of the six visitors
punctuated his advice by piercing Daitō's brain with a bamboo needle. Takuan identifies the
monks as "the Six Patriarchs [of Ch'an] who transmitted the robe," and Shunsaku concludes
the incident with a convincing detail: "The Master awoke with a headache." 1 This auspicious
dream is the third in Daitō's biography—his miraculous birth had been heralded by his
mother's dream, and his enlightenment was augured in Nanpo's dream about Yün-men.
Though these visions may be biographers' embellishments, the forty days that Daitō had just
spent copying the Transmission of the Lamp would be sufficient stimulus for a peculiar dream
about Ch'an monks (not to mention a headache).

The decade that Daitō spent at Ungo-an, 1309-1319, had been a time of continued growth for
Zen in Japan. In Kamakura the metropolitan Zen monasteries extended their influence under
the patronage of the Hōjō rulers. The year that Daitō settled in Ungo-an the prestigious Ch'an
master Tung-ming Hui-jih ( 1272-1340) arrived from China in response to Hōjō Sadatoki's
invitation. After successive appointments as abbot of several Kamakura monasteries, Tung-
ming was persuaded by the ambitious young Go-Daigo to take over Kenninji monastery in

51
Kyoto. The political influence of the Hōjō clan was by then eroding, and their decline was
accelerated by Sadatoki's death in 1311, yet their patronage of Zen was sustained by the
regent Takatoki, who came to power in 1316. During Takatoki's tenure three more émigré
masters were installed in Kamakura temples.

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Japanese pilgrims continued to seek Buddhism on the Chinese mainland, undeterred by the
traumatic effects of the recent Mongol invasions, the hazards of the sea voyage, or the
hardships of life in a foreign nation. Though the Mongols who had overrun China remained
hostile to Japan, they proved themselves to be enthusiastic patrons of Buddhism. In the first
two decades of the fourteenth century, Japanese pilgrimage to China reached its height; in
some of the Ch'an monasteries Japanese and Korean monks even outnumbered their Chinese
counterparts. For instance, while Daitō was in retreat in Ungo-an, Ch'gan Engetsu was waiting
in the Kyushu port of Hakata for a ship that would take him abroad. He failed to secure
passage on his first attempt in 1318, because the ship's quota of monks had been filled, but he
succeeded a few years later.

Daitō's biographers make no mention of any attempt by Daitō to travel to China, nor do they
speculate on his possible reasons for shunning such a trip. Daitō was not alone among the
promising young monks who eschewed the trip to China in favor of further training in Japan,
often in relative obscurity. While Daitō was living simply in Kyoto, Musō similarly spent six
years in isolation outside Kamakura. In one of his poems Musō chided those who violated his
solitude:

It would be merciful of people

not to come calling and disturb
the loneliness of these mountains
to which I have returned
from the sorrows of the world. 2

Another contemporary Zen monk who stayed in Japan was Kokan Shiren ( 1278-1345).
Kokan believed that the best-qualified Japanese monks were no longer going to China, and he
wanted to remedy the situation by going himself, but he abandoned his plans because of frail
health. 3 When Kokan's teacher I-shan asked to read a history of Buddhism in Japan, Kokan
was prompted to write his Genkō [ Era ] Record of Buddhism (Genkō Shakusho). It was
published in 1322, the first work of its kind.

Toward the end of Daitō's Ungo-an period there were portentous stirrings in the world of Zen
and in national politics. A number of prominent Zen masters died, most notably Kōhō
Kennichi in 1316 and I-shan I-ning in 1317. Their passing left vacancies at prestigious
temples such as Nanzenji, opening the way for a transfer of leadership to a new generation. In
1318 Go-Daigo assumed the throne and began to influence the course of events. Musō was
finally lured out of retirement in 1320 by Hōjō Takatoki. The next year Daitō received a grant
of land from Go-Daigo's son Prince Morinaga, and in 1323 he had his first meeting

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52
with the recently retired emperor, Hanazono. Daitō emerged from his period of
postenlightenment cultivation just when Zen was poised to assume a prominent role in
medieval Japan. He became one of the new leaders who shaped Zen's rapid expansion.

Debut at Murasakino

Murasakino is a district in the northern part of Kyoto, west of the Kamo River and east of the
rounded hills of Kinugasa. Known for the beauty of its fields and flowers (Murasakino means
"purple fields"), the area once housed the imperial villa of Emperor Junna (reigned 823- 833),
and it was a favored spot for aristocratic poetry parties. In Daitō's era the district was a
sparsely populated patchwork of rice paddies, forests, and wild marshes. The local peasants
honored native gods at an ancient Shinto shrine called Uchiyama, a few simple structures
scattered amidst stately trees. None of the buildings in the area was high enough to obstruct
the dramatic east-facing view of Mt. Hiei and the Kamo River. Here Daitō undertook the
construction of a new Zen monastery, which he named Daitokuji—Temple of Great Virtue.
He probably made the move from Ungo-an to Murasakino in 1319, at age thirty-seven. 4 Part
of Daitokuji's site was originally occupied by an older Tendai temple, Byakugō-in. Daitō's
uncle Akamatsu Norimura, the provincial governor of Harima, apparently facilitated the
transfer of land rights. Though records identify Norimura only as a "patron" of Byakugō-in,
the temple property may have been part of the Akamatsu clan's extensive holdings.

Daitō soon began to attract influential patrons. Zen master Nanpo's sanction established his
religious credentials, and in Norimura he had a valuable link to the regional power structure.
At a time when political authority was beginning to shift from Kamakura to Kyoto, the
prospect of a new Zen monastery untainted by the influence of the Hōjō regime appealed to a
variety of potential supporters. Besides the practical advantages of association with an up-
and-coming Zen master, some patrons must also have been prompted by sincere spiritual
motivations and Daitō's personal qualities. Norimura's son Norisuke ( 1312-1371) became an
early backer, as did Go-Daigo's son Morinaga, who gave provincial lands to Daitokuji in the
Genkō era ( 1321-1323). 5 In the spring of 1324 Emperor Go-Daigo enlarged Daitokuji's
compound by granting land on its south side. This tract included Emperor Junna's burial
mound and another Tendai temple, Unrin-in, which had been founded in 869. Daitō wrote a
letter of appreciation to Go-Daigo, promising that future generations would continue to
perform memorial services at the imperial tomb. 6 In 1325, still a year before Daitokuji's
formal inauguration, Daitō received a flurry of decrees from emperors

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Go-Daigo and Hanazono. In the second month the retired emperor Hanazono appointed
Daitokuji as an imperial prayer center, and Emperor Go-Daigo (not to be outdone) issued a
similar decree five months later. 7 Other named and unnamed benefactors began to make
donations in the form of money, materials, land in Kyoto, or income- producing estates in the
provinces.

The "beggar at the bridge" legends portray a reluctant Daitō who was plucked from obscurity
by an emperor seeking a sage. Though there may be a kernel of truth in this idealized image,
it is likely that Daitō welcomed and even solicited patronage during the Ungo-an and early
Murasakino periods. His connections within the Zen world and his family ties with the
Akamatsu clan positioned him well for such activity.

53
Daitō's two imperial patrons, emperors Hanazono and Go-Daigo, were members of different
branches of the royal family: Hanazono, who reigned from 1308 to 1318, belonged to the
"northern" line; his successor Go-Daigo, who reigned from 1318 to 1339, was from the
"southern" line. It appears that Daitō met Hanazono shortly before he met Go-Daigo.
Hanazono kept a copious diary, a source of valuable information about the era's intellectual
and religious milieu. 8 In this work Daitō is first mentioned on the twenty-third day of the fifth
month, 1323, when Hanazono was a young man of twenty-six (and already "retired"). The
entry is brief. "I met the Venerable Myōchō [Daitō ]. Our conversation was similar to our
previous talk." 9(The "previous talk" was not recorded.)

By the time Hanazono encountered Daitō, he was well versed in the teachings of a number of
Buddhist schools, and he also had developed a keen interest in Zen. 10 His spiritual yearnings
and insights are revealed in his diary. In a passage written after his forced abdication in 1318,
he lamented: "Often, because I am restless, I consider withdrawing from the world, yet my
resolve is not up to it. This shows I lack a mind that seeks the Way. How pitiful! I wonder
what the buddhas and heaven, with their clear vision, would have me do." 11 As he explored
the doctrines and practices of the Shingon, Tendai, and Pure Land schools, Hanazono read
over forty Buddhist texts, which he cited by name. Early in 1320 he met a Rinzai monk
named Gatsurin 1351), Dōkō), ( 1293- 1351), also known as Myōgyō. Their conversation
lasted till dawn, and Hanazono praised Gatsurin as a "dragon." 12 The two men continued to
meet periodically for about three years. As Hanazono's involvement deepened, so did his
admiration for Zen: "The exalted, wondrous nature of the Buddha-Dharma and the utmost
principle of the Mind- ground lie solely in this one school of Zen. The teachings of the other
schools of the Mahayana and the Hinayana cannot possibly equal

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it." 13 The retired emperor was introduced to koan practice, and he accepted Gatsurin as his
teacher in a formal ceremony, but the relationship was severed abruptly when Gatsurin
embarked on a pilgrimage to China.

Around this time Hanazono first met Daitō. Gatsurin and Daitō shared a past affiliation with
Kōhō Kennichi, and Gatsurin may have brought Daitō's name to the retired emperor's
attention. 14 Shunsaku's depiction of the initial encounter between Daitō and Hanazono later
became part of Japanese Zen lore:

The Emperor began, "The Buddha's Law facing the King's Law on the same level—
how unthinkable!" The Master replied, "The King's Law facing the Buddha's Law on
the same level—how unthinkable!" The Emperor's expression revealed his esteem for
the Master. 15

Hanazono's opening statement refers to the privilege Daitō has been granted: in the
conventional hierarchy the emperor's position was supreme and absolute; few of his subjects
were allowed even to look upon his face. In reply Daitō boldly holds up the Buddha's Dharma
as a truth that underlies and surpasses all such worldly distinctions, a law that is itself
"unthinkable" because it defies conceptualization. Although Hanazono was no newcomer to
Zen, the bluntness of Daitō's response may have shocked him: the master had already begun
to teach the retired emperor in a Zen manner. A month after Hanazono first mentioned Daitō
in his diary, he penned some thoughts on this same subject: "First and foremost, the secular
law and the Buddha's truth cannot be two separate things. The Lotus Sutra states, 'Whether

54
governing the world or discussing meditation, one should follow the True Dharma in all
cases.' More than anyone, an emperor should understand what this means." 16

Even if Shunsaku's version of the first Daitō-Hanazono encounter is enriched by apocryphal

elements, it highlights a pertinent theme and captures the spirit of the remarkable relationship
that developed between the two men. As will be seen below, the retired emperor continued to
train under Daitō for at least fourteen years, and he came to be acknowledged as one of the
master's outstanding disciples.

About a year after Daitō met Hanazono, he first encountered his other imperial patron,
Emperor Go-Daigo. 17 Daitō was forty-two, and Go-Daigo was thirty-six. The Emperor
hastened to express his enthusiastic support, showering the master with imperial favors,
grants, and titles. Go-Daigo also invited Daitō to participate in a religious debate, an event
that dramatically accelerated the relatively unknown master's rise to prominence.

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The Shōchō Debate

The Shōchō Debate, named after the era in which it occurred, reflected the rivalry between the
emerging Zen institution and the established Buddhist sects. By the Shōchō period ( 1324-
1326), Zen had planted roots in southern Japan ( Kyushu) and eastern Japan ( Kamakura), yet
it continued to encounter active resistance in western Japan (the area around Kyoto). There
the Tendai and Shingon sects and the older Nara schools had their headquarters. When the
leaders of these religious groups petitioned the Emperor to halt the spread of Zen, he
responded by setting up a public debate, a procedure sanctioned in Asia by countless
precedents. As Yüan-wu wrote in the Blue Cliff Record:

In doctrinal disputes in India the winner holds a red flag in his hand, while the loser turns his
clothes inside out and departs through a side door. Those who wanted to hold doctrinal
disputes in India were required to obtain royal permission. Bells and drums would be sounded
in the great temples and afterwards the debates could begin. 18

An early religious debate in Japan, authorized by Emperor Saga (reigned 809-823), is said to
have lasted seventeen days and nights.

The Shōchō Debate began during the (intercalary) first month of 1325, in the
Seiryōden Hall at the imperial palace. 19 Representing Zen were two disciples of
Nanpo—Daitō and Tsō Kyōen ( 1257-1325). Because Tsōō was Daitō's senior by
twenty-five years and the abbot of the prestigious Nanzenji temple, he bore the
primary responsibility for defending Zen. The established sects were represented by a
number of eminent clerics; foremost among them was Gen'e, the Tendai abbot
"renowned for learning beyond all men of the age." Other debaters included Kosei, the
abbot of Tōji, a Shingon temple in southern Kyoto; monks from Miidera, a Tendai
headquarters temple on the shores of Lake Biwa; and priests from the Nara schools.

Only fragmentary accounts of the debate have survived, and their degree of accuracy cannot
be determined, yet the depiction of Daitō's role is revealing. At one point Gen'e reportedly
stepped forward and asked, "What is Zen, which claims to be a separate transmission outside

55
the teachings?" 20 His question alluded to the well-known Zen slogan that challenged the
sutra-based or "doctrinal" schools of Buddhism. Daitō's reply, terse and uncompromising, was
a one-line capping phrase from the Blue Cliff Record: "An octagonal millstone flies through
the air." 21 Rather than give Gen'e a discursive explanation of

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Zen or its relation to the teachings, he sought to express Zen as directly as possible, and to do
that he relied on a capping phrase.

We are not surprised to learn that " Gen'e did not understand"— Daitō's image is a difficult
one, and Gen'e was probably unfamiliar with the conventions of Zen encounter dialogues. Yet
capping phrases are not nonsensical. At the least, the image of a flying millstone suggests
something beyond ordinary experience or conventional description, traits that would fit a
transmission "outside the teachings." A hard object in flight might also be destructive, even
terrifying, just as Zen is considered to have an alarming power to overturn customary patterns
of thought. In Zen language the activity of inanimate objects such as flying millstones often
refers to the "no-minded" quality of enlightened behavior. Masters assert that if Zen
awareness is brought to everyday acts, one can move freely through daily life in a manner as
wondrous as "flying through the air."

The baffled Gen'e withdrew and was followed by a Tendai monk bearing a box. Daitō asked
him what he was carrying, and the monk replied, "This box is the universe." Tendai doctrine
held that the microcosm encompasses the macrocosm, as expressed in the teaching that "one
thought is three thousand worlds." 22 Again Daitō abruptly altered the terms of debate—he
took up his short staff and struck the box, breaking it. "When the universe is smashed to bits,
what then?" he asked. Daitō's challenge would not have been entirely unexpected by a fellow
Zen monk. A number of koans pose similar conundrums: "If all things return to the One, to
what does the One return?" 23 Or: "In the roar of the kalpa fire, the whole universe is
destroyed. Tell me, is This destroyed?" 24 In Zen there are ways to respond to such questions,
but the hapless Tendai monk, "dazed and bewildered," was unable to answer Daitō.

Daitō's biographers report a second exchange involving Daitō, Gen'e, and several others; if
this encounter was not part of the Shōchō Debate, it may have occurred about the same time.
25
The dialogue, dealing with a Confucian text, is evidence of the renewed interest in
Confucianism among Japanese Buddhists:

[Gen'e's] group heard the Master's [Daitō's] name and went to question him. "What are
the methods of the Zen school?" they demanded. The Master answered, "Teaching the
truth through falsehoods." The scholars of Confucianism asked, "Have the sages ever
spoken falsely?" The Master said, "They have." The men insisted, "Being sages, how
could they have spoken falsely?"

The Master asked, "Don't you know this passage in Mencius? 'Hsiang [thinking he had
succeeded in killing Shun ] said, "I have killed Shun." But when Hsiang entered
Shun's house, there was

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56
 Shun sitting on his bed playing a lute. Shun [who knew of Hsiang's murderous
intentions] was pleased when he saw Hsiang come in.' Isn't it untrue [that Shun was
pleased to see Hsiang ]?"

The scholars of Confucianism fell into a heated discussion among themselves. Then
they asked the Master, "How can we resolve the meaning of this passage once and for
all?" The Master said, "Actually, Shun killed Hsiang." The scholars all bowed to the
ground in the manner of disciples. 26

In this exchange Daitō not only exhibits an impressive command of a Confucian classic, he
also demonstrates the interpretive flair he applied to the texts of his own Zen tradition. Daitō's
descendants cite his responses in the Shōchō Debate, especially his smashing of the box and
his "octagonal millstone" answer, as epitomizing his character and his Zen style. Yet when
these two portrayals of Daitō as debater are seen side-by-side, they present a fuller and more
complex portrait of the man. In the first instance Daitō is enigmatic and fierce, whereas in the
second he is erudite and articulate. If he had indeed been able to be discursive or
nondiscursive as the occasion demanded, he would have fulfilled a peer's definition of a true
Zen master, who "simply seizes upon a teaching in response to the moment, giving his tongue
free rein." 27

Political considerations inevitably colored the outcome of sponsored religious debates, and
sometimes these events merely legitimated a shift of influence already under way. In Japan of
1325 the former dominance of the older sects had become tenuous; within fifteen years the
balance would tip in Zen's favor, through the support of the new Ashikaga shogunate.
Emperor Go-Daigo, full of his own ambitions, sought to make the Buddhist establishment, old
and new, subordinate to imperial rule. For reasons of his own or in response to the debaters'
arguments, Go- Daigo awarded victory to the Zen monks. To Tsōō and Daitō he granted
special palanquins, which they or their descendants were invited to use whenever they visited
the palace (Daitō's palanquin is still housed at Tokuzenji, a Daitokuji subtemple). Tsōō, aged
sixty-seven, literally exhausted himself on behalf of Zen—in a dramatic denouement he died
on his way back to Nanzenji right after the debate.

Daitō's former antagonist Gen'e was reportedly so impressed by Zen and its two
representatives that he experienced a complete conversion. Shunsaku states: "Senshinshi
[ Gen'e ] entered sanzen training [under Daitō ]. His accomplishments were not shallow, and
the depth of his faith was unsurpassed. To further the construction of the new abbot's
residence, he donated his own dwelling to Daitokuji." 28

Although Gen'e's alleged realignment symbolically reinforces Zen's triumph, it is not as

implausible as it may first appear. However intense the sectarian rivalries of the day,
individual monks were not irrevocably

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bound by their affiliations. In fact, the rapid rise in the Zen monastic population during the
first half of the fourteenth century can be partly attributed to an influx of monks (and scholar-
monks) who had been ordained in the older schools. Another Tendai abbot became a follower
of Daitō's heir Tettō after Daitō's death. These senior monks may have been attracted to Zen
by a number of factors: its preeminence in China, its association with the latest developments
in continental thought, the rigor of its monastic discipline, or the caliber of its leaders.

57
Individual conversions did not, however, diminish the established sects' official opposition to
Zen. The vehemence of Tendai resistance was still evident two decades after the Shōchō
Debate, when Musō opened Tenryōji temple in 1345. In that case a Tendai threat of violence
had to be met by a show of Ashikaga military might, with Tendai again on the losing side.

The Inauguration of Daitokuji

For Daitō's personal career the Shōchō Debate of 1325 was an auspicious debut. To have been
chosen at all was an indication of ascendant prestige, and Daitō's comportment further
impressed his patrons and his peers. By the seventh month of 1325 Daitokuji had been
honored by two emperors as an imperial prayer center, and donations continued to arrive from
various quarters. One patron, a wealthy female disciple named Sōin, facilitated the purchase
of building materials for the new temple: "They selected huge timbers and raised a wind with
the whirring of their axes." 29

Construction of a Dharma hall began in 1325 and was completed by the end of 1326. In
medieval Zen the Dharma hall (hattō) was a square building two stories in height; besides the
supporting pillars and a single dais, the interior was left bare to accommodate the
congregation of monks. The hall was used in Japan in accord with Chinese precedents, as
described in a Ch'an text of the Sung dynasty:

All the monks gather morning and evening in the [Dharma] hall. The abbot enters the
hall and ascends the dais. The monastery officers and the assembled monks stand in
files as they listen [to the abbot's discourse]. The abbot and the monks exchange
questions and answers, thereby clarifying the essential teachings. 30

Instead of offering learned commentaries on the sutras, a Zen master was expected to express
his own enlightenment, his own realization of the Dharma, in a direct and forceful manner.
The absence of devotional images such as buddha figures reinforced the master's authority as
a living representative of the entire patriarchal line.

In the winter of 1326, on the traditional date of Shakyamuni Bud

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dha's enlightenment (the eighth day of the twelfth month), Daitō conducted the ceremony
inaugurating the Dharma hall of Daitokuji. This event concurrently fulfilled several aims: it
officially opened both the Dharma hall and Daitokuji; it installed Daitō as founding abbot and
affirmed his qualifications for the post; and it served as a public demonstration of Daitō's
sources of patronage. The inauguration ceremony performed by Daitō was called a kaidō
(literally, "opening the hall"). In the traditional Chinese manner, the event began with a
solemn procession from the main gate of the temple to the new Dharma hall. The abbot,
dressed in his most ornate robes, wore bright red Chinese-style slippers with toes that curled
upward. He was trailed by young novices, monks in training, and abbots of other temples,
some bearing ceremonial objects. Ordinarily, the abbot would pause at each gate or building
to offer a Zen poem in Chinese, but these other structures had not yet been built at Daitokuji.

Once inside the Dharma hall, Daitō mounted a dais by its center stairway and sat facing the
assembly. One by one, attendant monks ascended the dais by a pair of flanking stairs, until the

58
ceremonial offerings were complete. The master then addressed the audience. Traditionally,
the installation of a new abbot included a lively exchange, in the manner of a final
examination, during which any member of the congregation was entitled to engage the abbot
in "Dharma combat." In Daitō's case the monks posed their questions in a highly deferential
manner, and their master always had the last word. (In contemporary Japanese Zen this
dialogue is rehearsed by the abbot and his designated interlocutor.)

Daitō's inaugural Dharma lecture adheres to convention without sacrificing vitality. Rich in
the variety of its language, it includes flowery formulas in praise of emperors, personal
expressions of gratitude, original poems, comments on koans, erudite allusions, and opaque
paradoxes. Early in the ceremony Daitō offered incense to Go-Daigo, the reigning emperor,
and to Hanazono, the former emperor, using standard Chinese Buddhist formulas: "I pray that
the Emperor will live for tens of thousands of years." 31 Lighting incense for the senior
government officials, he enjoined them to emulate Mencius and the model bureaucrats of
ancient China. Whereas a number of Ch'an masters had resisted such formalities, 32 Daitō was
undoubtedly aware that the two emperors present were also his most powerful patrons.

Because a Zen monk often trained under several masters, it was necessary for a new abbot to
name the teacher who had sanctioned his enlightenment. If he had received the sanction of
more than one master, he announced which line he had chosen to succeed. In Daitō's opening
talk he identifies his teacher as Nanpo Jōmyō and expresses a feeling of

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"deep obligation for his gift of the milk of the Dharma." He alludes poetically to his own
enlightenment at Kenchōji and his subsequent period of self-cultivation. Holding aloft his
monk's shawl (kesa), an emblem of Dharma transmission, he asked aloud: "As I reverently
don this kesa, who can discern its true color?" Later in his address Daitō offers further
statements of gratitude, lavishing praise on his benefactor-disciple Sōin. He then rejoices:

Thanks to the high [aspiration] of the Emperor and his retainers, I have been permitted
to requite my indebtedness to all the sages— past, present, and future—in the sea of
great enlightenment, to all the superior friends whom I have encountered over many
lifetimes in the past, to my companions in the Way who share the daily activities of
monastic life, to my teachers, to my parents, to all those who have assisted me, and to
all living being. 33

The inauguration of Daitokuji marks a significant juncture in the history of Japanese Zen.
Previously, all of the major Zen temples had been founded by Chinese émigrés or by Japanese
pilgrims who had acquired their credentials abroad. In the Japanese reception of Ch'an, Daitō
was the first native monk trained in Japan to establish a major monastery.

Daitō held the post of abbot at Daitokuji from the time of his move to Murasakino in 1319
until his death in the winter of 1337. During that period he made one ten-day trip to
neighboring Tajima province and one three-month trip to distant Kyushu. Otherwise, he
remained in Kyoto to guide his monks and supervise the growth of his fledgling temple.
Daitō's relative lack of mobility was unusual in the early Muromachi period, when a
distinguished master would often serve as the abbot of many different temples. We have seen
that Daitō's teacher Nanpo, after over thirty years as the resident master of Sōfukuji in
Kyushu, was appointed abbot of Manjuji in Kyoto at age seventy-one, then abbot of Kenchōji

59
in Kamakura two years later. Daitō's peer Musō was perhaps the most peripatetic of all—he
made ten moves in the last twenty-six years of his life, becoming abbot of eight different
temples. 34 Musō's ability to shift with the political tide was remarkable: he became an
intimate advisor of the Ashikaga brothers as soon as they defeated his former patron, Go-
Daigo; previously he had slipped away from his first supporters, the Hōjō regents, as their
fortunes began to wane. Daitō never attempted to duplicate such feats of survival in the public
arena. Four years before his death he assented to an imperial decree (intended as an honor)
limiting the abbacy of Daitokuji to descendants of his line, and he may have assumed that he
too was restricted by this edict. It is also possible that his later career would have followed a
pattern similar to Nanpo's if he had lived beyond age fifty-five.

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In 1330 Daitō was invited by Yamana Tokiuji (d. 1372) to inaugurate Yōtokuji, a newly built
temple in Tajima province (present Hyōgo prefecture), not far from the area of Daitō's birth.
Tokiuji was the governor of the province and a descendant of a distinguished warrior family.
As part of the Yōtokuji kaidō ceremony, Daitō challenged the assembled monks:

If you think you understand before having heard [the Dharma], you violate the
command of the patriarchs. But to have an understanding of the Dharma based on
[someone else's] words is also incorrect. Now, is there anyone here who can resolve
this matter without committing either of these errors?" 35

The following year Daitō was invited to Sōfukuji temple in Kyushu, where Nanpo had
presided for three decades. The request came from ōtomo Yorihisa, a marshal of the military
headquarters in Dazaifu (present Fukuoka prefecture). Shunsaku reports that Daitō had to ask
Go-Daigo twice for permission to make the journey. During his three- month stay Daitō
performed a kaidō ceremony, completed a ninety-day training period, and founded a
subtemple called Shinshō-an. At the end of his visit he composed a farewell poem:

No footprints of mine are seen

wherever I wander:
on a tip of a hair I left the capital,
on three drum taps I am leaving Kyushu. 36

The Elaboration of Patronage

In its first decade Daitokuji was directly affected by the sweeping changes that accompanied
Japan's transition from the Kamakura to the Muromachi period. In 1330 Kamakura was still
the seat of the Hōjō shogunate, and the most prestigious Zen temples were located there. The
Hōjō's official Gozan ranking system was first applied to the Kamakura Zen temple Jōchiji in
1299; then Kenchōji, Engakuji, and Jufukuji—all Kamakura temples—were given Gozan
rankings in 1310. When Go-Daigo wrested power from the Hōjō regime in 1333, the political
center of gravity shifted west to Kyoto. To reinforce this transition, Go-Daigo ordered major
changes in the Zen institution, reshuffling the Gozan rankings in favor of Kyoto temples.
Daitokuji, which he attempted to place at the very top of the Gozan system, figured
prominently in his strategy. However, in less than three years power again changed hands, as
Go-Daigo was ousted by his former general Ashikaga Takauji. Takauji confirmed Kyoto as

60
the country's new capital, but he had his own plans for the Zen institution. In the first
Ashikaga

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ranking of the Gozan, dated 1341, Daitokuji was excluded entirely from the top five positions.

Imperial patronage of Daitokuji during Daitō's lifetime can be divided into three phases.
During the first phase, from 1323 to 1330, Daitō received a moderate level of support from
reigning emperor Go- Daigo and former emperor Hanazono, in roughly equal proportions.
Hanazono had met Daitō first; Go-Daigo judged the Shōchō Debate shortly thereafter. In
1325, as we have seen, both emperors made Daitokuji an imperial prayer center. (The
Kamakura shogunate, attempting to counter Go-Daigo's influence, in 1329 designated
Daitokuji as one of its own prayer temples.) In 1330 Go-Daigo awarded Daitokuji an estate
that included Daitō's birthplace in Harima province; the grant specified the temple's allotment
of rice income.

Throughout this initial phase of patronage Hanazono was practicing Zen intensely, and at
some point he had an enlightenment experience that was validated by Daitō. An undated
scroll in Hanazono's own hand poetically expresses his Zen understanding:

A man who has endured twenty years of pain and suffering

does not change his old wind and smoke when spring arrives.
He just wears his robe and eats his rice.
When one lives such a life,
could the great earth give rise to even a speck of dust? 37

In this verse Hanazono refers simultaneously to himself and to Daitō, who was believed to
have endured austerities for twenty years.

When Go-Daigo's rebellious schemes were first exposed in 1331, he was forced to flee Kyoto,
and his patronage of Daitokuji was interrupted. In 1333 he returned triumphantly to the capital
and presided over the short-lived Kenmu Restoration. Go-Daigo's eager support of Daitokuji
between 1333 and 1336 constitutes the second phase of patronage. During this period former
emperor Hanazono continued his private contacts with Daitō but avoided public notice. Go-
Daigo issued over forty decrees concerning Daitokuji, conduct that exemplified his
investment in the Zen institution and his attempt to consolidate power after his return to
Kyoto. 38 His continuous manipulation of Daitokuji's land rights outstripped his involvement
with the holdings of any other temple. The five principal documents were issued in the space
of a year; four of them have been preserved, and Daitō's written response to one of them is
also extant.

The first of Go-Daigo's major decrees, dated the eighth month of 1333, limits Daitokuji's
future abbots to members of Daitō's spiritual lineage. This injunction was contrary to the
Gozan principle of open monasteries, whereby abbots were chosen from any Zen lineage on
the basis of merit (at least in theory). Go-Daigo's text proclaimed:

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61
 Daitokuji is the nation's peerless Zen temple, where a thousand monks live in peace. I
command them to pray for the everlasting welfare [of our nation]. In the succession
from master to disciple, members of other branches of Zen are not permitted to
become head abbot. I write this directive with special respect for the proper
transmission of the Dharma, not with any feelings of prejudice. These words shall be
left to distant posterity, until the time of Maitreya's appearance in the world.

Twenty-fourth day, eighth month, third year of Genkō [ 1333 ]. To Zen Master Shōhō
Kokushi. 39

In the second decree, issued less than two months later, Go-Daigo ordered that Daitokuji be
included in the Gozan system. 40 The document's ambiguous wording also seemed to place
Daitokuji at the top of the Gozan rankings. Shunsaku states that Daitō respectfully declined
the honor (displaying the humility expected of a Zen monk). Yet in a letter to the priest of
Yōtokuji, Daitō expressed his pleasure at the news and named the five disciples he would
appoint to oversee the anticipated expansion of the temple. 41

A few months later, in the first month of 1334, Go-Daigo specified in a third major decree
that Daitokuji was to be ranked alongside Nanzenji at the apex of the Gozan system. He stated
in part: "Daitokuji is a grand and auspicious site for the enhancement of the Emperor's
destiny.... Its edifices please us greatly. Its ceremonies surpass those of the great temples of
the past. It must be placed alongside Nanzenji in the top rank of temples." 42 In the Emperor's
new ranking the top four temples were located in Kyoto: Daitokuji, Nanzenji, Tōfukuji, and
Kenninji. Below them were Kenchōji and Engakuji, two Kamakura temples.

A fourth Go-Daigo proclamation, in the fifth month of 1334, confirmed Daitokuji's

boundaries in Kyoto. At the time the temple extended as far as "the eastern edge of Funaoka
Hill on the east, Agui Avenue on the south, the bamboo forest on the west, and the Uchiyama
shrine on the north." 43 Another significant decree, in the eighth month of 1334, is known
from Kokai's edition of the Chronicle. It completed Go-Daigo's recognition of Daitokuji by
confirming the temple's provincial landholdings. After naming various estates in different
provinces, the Emperor wrote:

From now on, the kokushi and the shugo [two types of provincial governors] are
prohibited from requisitioning corvée labor, rice, or the like in these areas. I hope that
my intention to keep the monks well nourished is fulfilled for a long time. When the
King's Law and the Buddha's Law aid each other, the imperial wind and the patriarchal
wind will unite forever. 44

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Daitō's response is included in his Record:

All the lands held by this temple are now clearly defined. The words of this official
certificate, once received, cannot be annulled for a hundred eons or a thousand
lifetimes. 45

It is unlikely that Daitō ever developed as close a relationship with Go-Daigo as he had with
Hanazono. We have already noted the predominantly political nature of Go-Daigo's behavior,
his desire to control the established Buddhist sects, and the attention he lavished on other Zen

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masters besides Daitō. For example, when Go-Daigo returned to power in 1333, he recalled
Musō to Kyoto before issuing any of his decrees to Daitokuji. During this same period Go-
Daigo also invited eminent Ch'an monks to become abbots of Nanzenji and Kenninji, and he
gave titles to other Zen masters such as Kakushin. Even after his overthrow, Go-Daigo
maintained relations with a number of figures; for example, he formally accepted a Buddhist
name from Musō.

One of Daitō's biographers asserts, "Whenever Emperor Go-Daigo could spare time from
affairs of state, he sent for the Master [ Daitō ] and questioned him about the essentials of
Zen." 46 However, only two meetings are specifically noted. According to Shunsaku, the
Emperor first invited Daitō to the palace for a ceremony; a portrait of Ch'an master Pai-chang
was displayed in honor of the occasion. Go-Daigo was so pleased by his conversation with
Daitō that the next day he sent the master "precious gold, finely woven silks, and other gifts."
47
In 1335 Go-Daigo paid a visit to Daitokuji. As patrons do, he expressed interest in the
temple's expansion, suggesting to his host that a pond be built southeast of the abbot's
quarters. Daitō "immediately directed the monks to begin digging a pond, joining them in the
work." 48

During this second phase of imperial patronage Go-Daigo's son Morinaga, one of Daitō's first
backers, continued to demonstrate his support of Daitokuji. In 1333 he donated a vegetarian
feast to the resident monks. Daitō extravagantly thanked Morinaga, a general, by comparing
him to a martial incarnation of the bodhisattva of compassion: "The bodhisattva Kannon has
thirty-two manifestations. Among them, the general of the gods is the most true. He dissolves
all obstacles, bestows joy, seizes a hundred blessings, and rescues the destitute." 49 The next
year Morinaga added more land to the temple's holdings. In 1333 another early patron,
Akamatsu Norimura, donated a private estate in Harima and notified the Emperor
accordingly.

A third phase of patronage, during which Hanazono was ascendant, lasted barely eighteen
months in 1336-1337. For several years the former emperor had skirted the political arena. In
1335 his head was

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shaved in a formal Zen ceremony, an act that expressed his personal commitment to Daitō and
his further withdrawal from the world. (Hanazono's snipped-off hair is preserved at Daitokuji
in a small reliquary pagoda.) When Go-Daigo was stripped of his power at the end 1336, a
northern-line emperor was installed in his place by Ashikaga Takauji. For Daitokuji, Go-
Daigo's previous patronage threatened to become a serious liability, whereas Hanazono's
membership in the northern branch was suddenly an asset. Responding to Daitokuji's
predicament, Hanazono took steps to reaffirm his support for the temple and its founder.

In the ninth month of 1336 Hanazono sent "many kinds of handmade flowers" to Daitō. It is
possible that Daitō's health was already failing, though the biographies do not mention illness
until the following year. Daitō's words of appreciation are found in his Record:

Indra rained flowers down upon [Subhōti] and moved the earth. The retired emperor
has bestowed these flowers upon us. Are these events the same, or are they different?
50

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In 1337, when Daitokuji's lands were vulnerable to confiscation by Ashikaga Takauji or his
partisans, Hanazono presented the temple with a tract in Mino province (present Gifu
prefecture). Only four months before Daitō's death, Hanazono issued a decree reconfirming
Daitokuji's privilege of single-line succession (figure 3). His words echoed Go- Daigo's first
decree to Daitokuji four years earlier:

Daitokuji Zen temple is a special recipient of the true vein of [the Sixth Patriarch, who
taught in] Ts'ao-hsi. Only Daitokuji continues to fan the wind from [Bodhidharma's
temple] Shao-lin. Daitokuji truly sets the standard among all the Zen monasteries.
During this kalpa, until the coming of Maitreya, the Dharma seat of this temple must
be occupied only by successors of the Daitokuji lineage, never by monks from other
lines. How could this decree arise from prejudicial personal sentiments? The intention
is to distinguish clearly between the different branches of Zen. In the future, this
commandment must never be violated.

Twenty-sixth day, eighth month, fourth year of Kenmu [ 1337 ]. To Zen Master Kōzen
Daitō Kokushi. 51

Working closely with Daitō and his disciple Kanzan Egen, Hanazono sponsored the founding
of another monastery, Myōshinji, to which he donated part of his country residence. After
Daitō's death in 1337 Hanazono chose to continue his own Zen training under Kanzan, though
he also supported Daitō's successor at Daitokuji, Tettō Gikō.

During Daitō's lifetime emperors Go-Daigo and Hanazono signifi-

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figure 3 . proclamation from emperor Hanazonon to Diatō, 1337. courtesy of daitokuji.

cantly enhanced his prestige by giving him "Kokushi" (National Master) titles. Daitō's
original monastic name was Shōhō Myōchō. Hanazono awarded him the title of "Kōzen Daitō
Kokushi," and Go-Daigo reportedly called him "Kōshō Shōtō Kokushi." 52 In the documents
that have survived, the first use of "Kokushi" was Go-Daigo's 1333 decree ordering single-
line succession, where "Shōhō Kokushi" was used as a form of address. This unusual
combination of a personal name with "Kokushi" could simply have been an indication of Go-
Daigo's respect for Daitō. The first complete Kokushi title appears in Hanazono's 1337
reconfirmation of Daitokuji's single-line succession, which ends with a salutation to "Zen
Master Kōzen Daitō Kokushi." Granting a title at this point in Daitō's career was an
appropriate final tribute to a master nearing death, and it was another way to counteract
Daitokuji's loss of influence after Go-Daigo's fall(the new title may even have been the
primary rationale for the proclamation).

The title credited to Go-Daigo, "Kōshō Shōtō Kokushi," does not appear on any extant
document. It seems that "Shōtō" was granted during Daitō's lifetime and that "Kōshō" was
awarded posthumously, when the defeated Go-Daigo was confined to the Yoshino mountains
near Nara. The decree awarding "Kōshō," dated the fourth month of

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64
1339, is addressed to Tettō. 53 This scroll is sometimes credited to Emperor Go-Murakami
(reigned 1339-1368), but even so the title itself could have been determined by Go-Daigo.

A subtle rivalry developed between Go-Daigo and Hanazono, yet it was tame in comparison
with the bitter divisions of the age. 54 Four years into Go-Daigo's reign Hanazono twice
praised his successor in his diary. 55 His tone changed, however, in the tenth month of 1325,
during the early period in which the two emperors were vying with each other in their
patronage of Daitō. After describing a meeting between Go- Daigo and Musō, Hanazono
criticized them both: "Everyone says that His Majesty [ Go-Daigo ] earnestly desires the
Buddha-Dharma to flourish. So I do not understand why he tries to make a secret of his
reliance on [Musō]. To treat this man as a venerable abbot is to destroy the patriarchal
succession of the Zen school. One cannot help but grieve." 56 The two emperors frequently
duplicated decrees to Daitō. When Hanazono designated Daitokuji as an imperial prayer
center, Go-Daigo followed suit. Go-Daigo limited Daitokuji's abbacy to one lineage, and
Hanazono repeated the command four years later. Hanazono granted a Kokushi title; Go-
Daigo ignored it and granted his own.

It is difficult to gauge Daitō's response to the gradual elaboration of patronage. The traditional
view within Zen is that he was so devoted to the training of his monks that he was oblivious to
such worldly matters as politics or patronage. Early biographers claim that he protested two of
Go-Daigo's major proclamations: the imperial prayer center decree of 1325 and the first
Gozan decree of 1333. Japanese scholar Hirano Sōjō believes that the imperial favors were a
"terrible nuisance" to Daitō and the apparent competition between the two emperors an added
"headache." 57 Yet a reading of the documentary evidence, including Daitō's numerous
expressions of gratitude in response to the gifts and decrees, gives the impression that he
sincerely welcomed whatever support he could muster. If Daitō had really wanted to reject
imperial patronage, he could have moved away from Kyoto, as a number of his predecessors
and contemporaries did. Instead, he sustained the support of two "rival" emperors for a decade
and a half, handling matters so adroitly that both patrons remained eager to honor him even
after his death.

When Daitō moved to Murasakino in 1319, at the age of thirty- seven, he lacked institutional
standing, influential patrons, and public recognition. In 1334, when the master was fifty-two,
his new temple was ranked at the top of the Gozan system. During this fifteen-year period
Daitō had emerged from relative obscurity to a position of authority in the expanding world of
Japanese Zen. His role as founder and abbot of Daitokuji became central to his Zen legacy—
for the histor

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ical event itself and for the religious interpretation given to that achievement. The Daitō
depicted in the biographical materials is a figure whose search for self-realization was
untainted by worldly ambition, whose development included a proper hiatus between
enlightenment and a public career, and whose intentions in founding a temple were genuinely
spiritual. He thus came to represent an ideal resolution of the ever-present tension between the
individual Zen practitioner and the Zen institution: a free spirit who can operate skillfully
within the system, bending it to unselfish purposes without allowing it to sap his energy or
cloud his insight.

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65
 6
ENLIGHTENMENT AND
AUTHENTICITY

When Gen'e Asked, "What is Zen?" in the Shōchō Debate, he raised a question that the
pioneers of Japanese Zen needed to answer for themselves as well as others. Several factors
fueled the inquiry into the essence and principal features of Zen. Zen was originally a foreign
religion in Japan, recognizable as Buddhist but alien in many respects. The large Chinese-
style Zen monasteries in Kamakura and Kyoto represented novel forms of architecture, ritual,
dress, etiquette, and language. Monks sought not only to comprehend such unfamiliar traits
but to embrace them intimately and personally. Political considerations also affected
conceptions of orthodoxy and heterodoxy, as individual masters and emergent lineages
struggled to gain influence. Moreover, the Ch'an/Zen tradition was itself immersed in an
ongoing process of self-definition and self-examination. In one form or another, practitioners
confronted challenging questions: What is a correct understanding of Zen and how is it
demonstrated? What is the mainstream of this tradition and what falls outside it?

Questions of authenticity and legitimacy were also of vital concern in medieval Japanese
society generally. The warriors who had displaced the nobility as the country's ruling elite
were still regarded as usurpers in some quarters, and they attempted to enhance their
legitimacy through any available means, from acquired titles to the trappings of culture. The
legitimacy of the imperial succession became another source of tension after the imperial
family split into two branches. Though representatives of the "two courts" alternated amicably
for a period, political pressures generated uncertainty about the true succes

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sion and the criteria used to establish it. One courtier, Kitabatake Chikafusa, was impelled to
reexamine the entire history of Japan's imperial descent in his treatise of 1339.

In the realm of religion, analogous issues stirred a number of Buddhist sects besides Zen. For
instance, a struggle for leadership in the True Pure Land (Jōdo Shinshō) sect was couched in
terms of the authenticity of spiritual succession. Kakunyo ( 1270-1351), unable to assert
authority simply by virtue of his blood relation to the founder Shinran, further claimed to be
the privileged recipient of a spiritual transmission from Shinran, allegedly passed from master
to disciple over three generations. The general uncertainty about legitimacy in other sectors of
Japanese society undoubtedly intensified the discourse about authenticity within Zen.

Controversy about the elements of authentic Zen was most factious early in the period of
transmission; Dōgen's well-articulated and often strident stands are especially revealing. The
later pioneers, Daitō prominent among them, begin to express a greater degree of consensus
regarding the cardinal characteristics of Zen in Japan. In order to assess Daitō's individual
approach, it is helpful first to survey the contributions of his predecessors and peers.

Conceptions of Authenticity

All religious traditions are continually required to define and redefine themselves as their
circumstances change. In the face of heterogeneity and potential ambiguity, adherents want to

66
be convinced (and to convince others) that the teachings and practices they have received are
authentic in every sense of the concept—that is, original, genuine, real, true, credible,
legitimate, and authoritative. The following Zen anecdote can be read as a story about
authenticity:

A wandering monk was climbing a mountain alongside a stream, on his way to the
Zen monastery at the top, when he noticed a vegetable leaf floating downstream from
the direction of the monastery. He thought, "It is just a single leaf, but any place that
would waste it cannot be very good," and he turned to go back down the mountain.
Just then he saw a lone monk come running down the path, chasing after the floating
leaf. Immediately the wandering monk decided to enroll in the monastery at the top of
the mountain. 1

On the basis of a single leaf the traveling monk concluded that first-rate Zen training—and by
extension genuine Zen itself—was not to be found at the mountain monastery; then a glance
at a single monk convinced him that true Zen was being practiced there after all. In this case,
the principle that nothing should be wasted (linked to Zen teach

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ings such as mindfulness and the intrinsic value of all things) functioned as a decisive
criterion of authenticity for the story's protagonist.

Every school of Buddhism claims to uphold the Dharma, which refers (among its many
meanings) to the ultimate truth and the teachings propounded by Shakyamuni Buddha after
his enlightenment. The earliest Buddhist texts contrasted the "true Dharma" (saddhamma)
with mistaken views. A Buddhist cosmological scheme that had great impact on East Asia
identified eras of true Dharma (shōbō in Japanese), counterfeit Dharma (zōbō), and
degenerate Dharma (mappō). An influential eighth- century history of Ch'an lineages, the
Record of the Dharma Treasure Down Through the Generations (Li tai fa pao chi), was
subtitled "Record in which the true and false are determined, the heterodox is suppressed, and
the orthodox is revealed." 2

In Ch'an/Zen the concept of authenticity has been expressed in many ways (a Sino-Japanese
character or compound often can function as a noun, adjective, or verb, just as English has
authenticity, authentication, authentic, and authenticate). The characters shō and shin mean
"true," "real," and "authentic." They appear in such fixed compounds as "true Dharma"
(shōbō), "true school" (shōjō), "true vehicle" (shinjō), "true gate" (shōmon), and "true
enlightenment" (shinshō). Ch'an master Lin-chi combines both characters to indicate "true
insight" (Jp. shinshō no kenge). 3Shingi (literally, "truth/falsity") often corresponds to the
notion of authenticity, as in the following passage by Dōgen: "You should know that for a
Buddhist it is not a matter of debating the superiority or inferiority of doctrines, or of
choosing the depth or superficiality of teachings that matters; all we have to know is whether
the practice is authentic or not (shingi)." 4 The words honbun and honrai can mean
"primordial," "fundamental," or "authentic." Yüan-wu defines an "authentic master of the
school" (Jp. honbun no shōshi) as one who "sets up the banner of the Dharma and establishes
the essential teaching." 5 Dōgen speaks of honbun no hito, the "authentic" or "primordial"
person. 6

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Another character shō is an important Zen term with a range of English renderings that
include "authenticate," "enlighten," and "prove." It appears, for example, in a famous formula
by Dōgen:

To study the Buddha Way is to study the self; to study the self is to forget the self; to
forget the self is to be authenticated (shō) by all things. 7

The third line can also be translated: "to forget the self is to be enlightened by all things," 8
testimony to the intimate link between enlightenment and authenticity in Zen.

When a religion is seeking to establish itself in a new culture, the

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issue of authenticity intensifies. In the case of Ch'an's introduction to Japan, the pioneers
faced considerable difficulties. Whatever "Ch'an" was, its dimensions seemed to be
simultaneously spiritual, doctrinal, institutional, artistic, literary, and social. In addition, the
contours of Chinese Ch'an continued to shift during a period of transmission that spanned
nearly two centuries. Lineage rivalries created internal fissures, subschools prospered or
faded, styles of teaching changed, and literary tastes evolved. The Chinese monks who
claimed to represent Ch'an, whether they remained in China or emigrated to Japan, inevitably
varied in their approaches. In certain significant respects, Ch'an presented a different tableau
to each of the Japanese monks who encountered it.

Dōgen's earliest extant work, an essay called "On Practicing the Way" (Bendōwa), illustrates
the early pioneers' preoccupation with the authenticity of their Buddhism or their Zen. In the
first sentence of this work Dōgen extols the direct transmission of the Dharma from one
enlightened buddha to another, and then he declares: "That it is transmitted without deviation
from buddha to buddha is by virtue of the samādhi personally enjoyed [by the Buddha]
(jijuyōzanmai), which is its touchstone (hyōjun)." 9 For Dōgen, genuine Zen is the rightly
transmitted Buddha-Dharma, and the criterion for Dharma transmission is the supreme
enlightenment of the buddhas. In the remainder of the text, Dōgen elaborates on this theme.
As Carl Bielefeldt has shown,

Dōgen uses the notion of the historical tradition of the Buddhas and Patriarchs to
distinguish his Zen meditation from other forms of Buddhist practice. In fact the entire
work is dominated by an acute sense of this tradition and of the historical significance
of its transmission to Japan. In his introduction to the text Dōgen recites the legend of
the transmission of the "Buddha mind seal" (busshin'in), from ōkyamuni to the five
houses of Ch'an. This tradition represents the "orthodox transmission" (shōden), the
"authentic buddha-dharma" (shinjitsu no buppō), the "unadulterated buddha-dharma"
(jun'ichi no buppō), brought to the East by the First Patriarch, Bodhidharma, and
spread there by the Sixth Patriarch, Hui-neng. 10

About ten years after Dōgen wrote Bendōwa, he wrote an essay called "The Way of the
Buddha" (Butsudō) in which he addressed the authenticity of the transmission in a more
sectarian fashion. He traced the spiritual genealogy of Ch'an from the Indian patriarchs
specifically to his own Chinese teacher and asserted that the lineage he represented was the
only one that was genuine: "There is no other transmission; there is no other school." 11

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When was authentic Ch'an first introduced to Japan? When did the

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Japanese really understand Ch'an? When did Zen in Japan become truly Japanese? These
questions conceal further normative issues involving the nature of "Chinese Ch'an" and
"Japanese Zen." Another source of complexity is the wide range of phenomena to which the
notion of authenticity can be applied. In the question "Is X's Zen authentic?" X can be
replaced by a person, a temple, a text, a lineage, a doctrinal tenet, a type of practice, a style of
poetry, and so on. Though many things can be described as "authentically Zen," there may not
be one single criterion that will fit all cases.

Scholarly treatment of the issue of authenticity in Zen's transmission to Japan has been
uneven and idiosyncratic. Widely varying criteria are cited (or assumed), and different
masters are accordingly singled out for distinction. For example, the early pilgrim Kakua is
described by Daigan and Alicia Matsunaga as "the first to receive proper Zen transmission." 12
Hee-jin Kim gives prominence to Dōgen: "The Kōshō- hōrinji [Kōshōji] temple, founded by
Dōgen in 1233, thus had historic significance in that it was the first attempt ever made by the
Japanese to establish...'pure Zen.' " 13 Heinrich Dumoulin stresses the arrival of the Chinese
émigré masters, because "the Zen they all brought with them was authentic." 14 Yanagida
Seizan points to Daitō as "the first Japanese truly to touch the heart of the Blue Cliff Record."
15
Other scholars credit other masters (e.g., Eisai, Enni, Nanpo, and Musō) with various
milestones in early Japanese Zen.

In recent years the assumptions that underlie such assessments have been subjected to fresh
scrutiny. Rather than searching for a "pure" Ch'an or Zen, some scholars see a dynamic and
ever-present tension between orthodoxy and heterodoxy, and they are reluctant to privilege
one over the other. Bernard Faure writes:

Thus, there is no pristine purity at the origin of the Zen tradition, and the "pure Zen"
advocated by Dōgen and some of his predecessors was perhaps a self-serving
ideology. Zen, as a living religious tradition, has always had a syncretistic or
combinatory nature.... There is no Ch'an or Zen tradition apart from repeated
departures from the tradition. 16

Early Japanese Zen certainly validates the observation that a religion is composed of many
different voices; on some level there was a constant struggle to identify acceptable and
unacceptable forms of discourse. At the same time, as we assess the doctrines and the
behavior of influential religious figures, it is best not to make too sharp a distinction between
the "pure" and the "self-serving." Historical realities and hermeneutical acumen may not
permit us to posit a Zen that would be universally regarded as authentic. Yet it does not
follow from such interpretive

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complexities that the teachings of the pioneers should be viewed only as sectarian or
ideological power struggles.

Enlightenment

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In the Blue Cliff Record, Yüan-wu poses a fundamental question:

Jewels are tested with fire, gold is tested with a stone; a sword is tested with a hair,
water is tested with a pole. In the school of the patchrobed monks, in one word, one
phrase, one act, one state, one exit, one entry, one encounter, one response, you must
see whether someone is deep or shallow, you must see whether he is facing forwards
or backwards. But tell me, what will you use to test him with? 17

For Ch'an and Zen masters, enlightenment is the primary criterion of authenticity, and all
other criteria are linked to it in some way. Through training and awakening, the masters
assert, one can realize one's essential nature, the ground of one's existence. The primacy of
enlightenment in Zen and other schools of Buddhism is widely recognized. D. T. Suzuki
makes the point emphatically:

Enlightenment occupies the central point of teaching in all schools of Buddhism,

Hinayana and Mahayana, "self-power" and "other- power," the Holy Path and the Pure
Land, because the Buddha's teachings all start from his enlightenment experience,
about 2,500 years ago in the northern part of India. Every Buddhist is, therefore,
expected to receive enlightenment either in this world or in one of his future lives.
Without enlightenment, either already realized or to be realized somehow and
sometime and somewhere, there will be no Buddhism. Zen is no exception. In fact, it
is Zen that makes the most of enlightenment, or satori. 18

Although Suzuki's appraisal reflects his admiration for Zen, it acknowledges that even within
Buddhism there are many different ways of conceiving and expressing "enlightenment." The
Theravada tradition, for instance, equates it with the realization that all conditioned things are
impermanent, lack self-existence, and entail suffering. For many East Asian followers of Pure
Land Buddhism, enlightenment is anticipated to occur after death, through the saving power
of Amida Buddha or the earnest devotions of one's living descendants. In apparent contrast, a
Tibetan Buddhist might seek enlightenment through identification with a cosmic buddha and
an ecstatic transformation of consciousness.

In the Ch'an/Zen tradition some of the oldest ways of expressing enlightenment were
metaphoric: a mirror free of dust, the dispersal of clouds, the bright flame of a lamp, and so
on. Early Ch'an texts also offered more discursive descriptions of enlightenment, as in the
following portrayal of those who have achieved buddhahood:

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[They] are enlightened to the Dharma-nature and distinctly illuminate the mind that is
the source [of all things]. They do not generate false thoughts, never fail in correct
mindfulness, and extinguish the illusion of personal possession. Because of this, they
are not subject to birth and death. Since they are not subject to birth and death, they
have achieved the ultimate state of serene extinction [nirvana]. Since they have
achieved serene extinction, the myriad pleasures naturally accrue to them. 19

A time-honored Ch'an/Zen term for enlightenment is "seeing the nature" (chien-hsing in

Chinese; kenshō in Japanese), which may also be rendered in English as "seeing True-nature,"
"seeing one's own true nature," or a comparable expression. The most important early use of
this term is found in the Platform Sutra (compiled in the ninth century), where it plays a

70
prominent role in the teachings attributed to the Ch'an patriarch Hui-neng. 20"see" one's own
original nature is to discover and experience universal Buddha-nature, which is inherent in all
beings whether they are enlightened or not. Another influential locus classicus of kenshō is
the four-line stanza, traditionally attributed to Bodhidharma, that Zen has long used to define
itself:

A separate transmission outside the teachings; not depending on words and letters.
Point straight at man's [own] mind; see [one's own true] nature and become Buddha. 21

The most crucial line is the last, in which seeing one's true nature and the attainment of
buddhahood are equated unambiguously. 22 Ironically, this cardinal Zen declaration about the
inadequacy of language is presented as a memorable verse, with exactly four characters in
each line.

A classic controversy that reverberated within Ch'an for centuries considered whether
enlightenment was "sudden" or "gradual." The Southern School of Ch'an, which claimed to
follow the Sixth Patriarch Hui-neng, was identified with sudden enlightenment, whereas the
Northern School, personified by the historically influential master Shen-hsiu ( 606?-706), was
linked to gradual enlightenment. In fact, the approaches of the two schools were closer to each
other and more complex than the typology that was codified by tradition. The masters of the
triumphant Southern School held that sudden awakening could transform one instantly into a
buddha, though in practice they usually conceded that an abrupt insight should be followed by
sustained cultivation. Formulations implying that cultivation before enlightenment was a
means to an end were rejected for their apparent dualism.

It goes without saying that enlightenment was as central to Japanese Zen as to Chinese Ch'an.
The vocabulary of Japanese Zen is replete with terms and expressions that signify
enlightenment, most of them

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rooted in Chinese and Indian Buddhism. Besides satori and kenshō, one finds awakening
(kaku), true awakening (shōgaku), perfect awakening (engaku), insight (sei), attaining the
Way (jōdō), becoming Buddha (jōbutsu), opening the eye (kaigen), liberation (gedatsu),
authentication (shō), the great death (daishi), self-enlightenment without a teacher (mushi
dokugo), great satori with full penetration (taigo tettei), and peerless perfect enlightenment
(anokutara sanmyaku sanbodai). All these nouns have verb forms as well. Other Zen
expressions too numerous to list also point to enlightenment: "To settle the one great matter,"
"To cut through the storehouse consciousness with one blow," "To leap directly into the land
of Tathāgata Buddha," and so on.

Certain conceptions of enlightenment were universally shared among the Japanese Zen
pioneers. When Bassui asserted that " the essential thing for enlightenment is to empty the
mind of the notion of self," 23 he upheld a teaching as old as Buddhism. Lan-ch'i, writing for
his Japanese audience, expressed another common point: enlightenment was not based on
ordinary knowledge or sensation, but, once attained, it informed the activity of the mind and
the senses. He stated, " Turning the light around to shine back, knowing and seeing
fundamentally inherent Self-nature, is called the eye of wisdom; after seeing one's
[Self-]nature, one may then put seeing, hearing, discernment, and knowledge to use." 24
Enlightenment defied conceptualization, said the masters, and yet it could be known as

71
intimately as one knows whether a drink of water is hot or cold. It was neither a special state
nor an "experience" like other experiences. In this spirit, Dōgen spoke of enlightenment as
boundless: "As for what this unexcelled enlightenment is like, even all the worlds in ten
directions are no more than a fraction of unexcelled enlightenment." 25

Several meanings of "enlightenment" were accepted in Japanese Zen, as had been the case in
Chinese Ch'an. 26(Though the focus here is historical, the same can be said of contemporary
Japanese Zen.) The notion was flexible enough to embrace weighty doctrinal tenets, specific
insight experiences, and advanced states of awareness. In one of its primary meanings,
enlightenment was equated with inherent Buddha-nature. Musō, for example, declared that
"purity, truth, awakening, nirvana, and the various perfections (pāramitās) all flow from total
enlightenment," which he identified with the "field of Original Nature. " 27 Other teachers
used terms like True Mind, Original Face, Tao (Way), or Self-nature as synonyms for
enlightenment.

In a second cardinal meaning, enlightenment embraced the full range of awakening

experiences, from a tip-of-the-tongue taste to a profound realization. This usage highlighted
enlightenment's psycholog

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ical dimension as a turning point in the spiritual development of an individual. Vivid

descriptions of this decisive moment, like the one in the following passage by Bassui, spurred
practitioners on to greater effort:

If you push forward with your last ounce of strength at the very point where the path
of your thinking has been blocked, and then, completely stymied, leap with hands high
in the air into the tremendous abyss of fire confronting you—into the ever-burning
flame of your own primordial nature—all ego-consciousness, all delusive feelings and
thoughts and perceptions will perish with your ego-root, and the true source of your
Self-nature will appear. You will feel resurrected, all sickness having completely
vanished, and will experience genuine peace and joy. You will be entirely free. 28

In a third important understanding, enlightenment was at times equated with full awakening
or full buddhahood. This conception deemphasized a particular peak experience in favor of
the moment-by- moment awareness associated with the highest degree of spiritual attainment.
Though such a state was said to be beyond description, its psychological attributes were
believed to include a nondual awareness free from separation between self and other, a
liberating lack of attachment, and a spontaneous compassion for all beings. At this level, little
distinction was made between the historical Buddha, cosmic buddhas, and practitioners so
advanced as to have achieved buddhahood. The émigré master Lan-ch'i asserted:

To see [True-]nature and become Buddha is to know one's Self- nature and sever the
root of sentient existence.... Then there is no birth-and-death or delusive passions. This
is provisionally termed "becoming Buddha." Buddha is enlightenment, the realization
that one has never been deluded. 29

In actual usage the boundaries between these principal meanings of "enlightenment" were not
scrupulously observed, and a given term sometimes embraced more than one dimension of the
concept. The ambiguity that resulted could be justified, however, by the conviction that the

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various meanings of enlightenment were fundamentally congruent and even ultimately
identical. By the time Ch'an reached Japan, the classic controversy regarding the "sudden" or
"gradual" nature of enlightenment had yielded to a widely shared formulation that accepted
the suddenness of enlightenment and the need for both prior and subsequent cultivation.
Variations within this near-consensus were more a matter of emphasis than of substance.
Suddenness was affirmed in similar terms by émigré Lin-chi masters such as Lan-ch'i and by
Japanese Rinzai masters such as Bassui. Lan-ch'i wrote: "When delusive views

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have all been exhausted, you suddenly awaken from the great dream and see Buddha-nature.
This is called 'great satori with full penetration.' " 30 Bassui reiterated: "When the intense
questioning envelops every inch of you and penetrates to the very bottom of all bottoms, the
question will suddenly burst and the substance of the Buddha-mind be revealed.... The joy of
this moment cannot be put into words." 31

Sudden enlightenment was accepted by the early Japanese Sōtō masters as well. Dōgen
praised Hui-neng because "once he was suddenly enlightened, he left his mother and sought a
teacher." 32 Dōgen's descendant Keizan taught that one enters enlightenment when "the innate
inconceivably clear mind is suddenly revealed and the original light finally shines
everywhere." 33 Keizan's heir Gasan is said to have awakened suddenly when he heard his
teacher quote a Ch'an saying.

Postenlightenment cultivation was similarly recognized as indispensable by all branches of

Zen. Because an initial awakening rarely (if ever) corresponded to full enlightenment, even
those who had glimpsed their true nature were still thought to be vulnerable to pride,
complacency, or self-delusion. Hence the need for further practice and the guidance of a
qualified teacher. Bassui compared someone who settled prematurely for a shallow
awakening to a man who finds copper and gives up his search for gold. 34 Dōgen lauded Hui-
neng for seeking a teacher after his sudden enlightenment, and Musō extolled the
postenlightenment practice of Chao-chou, who was renowned for his dedication to zazen:

This old monk was enlightened almost from birth, yet his practice of Ch'an was
[unrelenting]. You can imagine what those who are not yet fully self-enlightened must
do! There is an old saying: "An unenlightened person must strive as if he were
mourning his parents; an enlightened person must also strive as if he were mourning
his parents." 35

The most discordant note in this early discourse was perhaps sounded by Dōgen. Although he
accepted many of the tenets embraced by his peers, he objected to the term kenshō. To Dōgen
this expression suggested at least two false dualisms—practice versus enlightenment, and
"seeing" versus "True-nature." 36 Accordingly, he criticized the famous line "see [True-]nature
and become Buddha" from the stanza attributed to Bodhidharma. Although he acknowledged
Hui-neng's sudden enlightenment, he also attacked the Platform Sutra for its endorsement of
kenshō: "In the Platform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch are the words 'to see [True-]nature.' This
work is a forgery...not to be trusted or used by any descendants of the buddhas and
patriarchs." 37 As is often the case with Dōgen, his stance can be seen as a creative refinement
of Zen teachings, or a partisan attempt to discredit a rival lineage, or both.

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 An Elusive Touchstone?

When masters such as Dōgen identify the enlightenment of the buddhas as the criterion
(hyōjun) for authentic Dharma transmission, they do not subject their technical terms or their
doctrinal assertions to Western- style philosophical analysis. The concept of a criterion has its
own subtleties; when applied to such difficult topics as Dharma transmission, enlightenment,
or Zen, the complexities multiply. In this case the Zen approach and a scholarly perspective
seem bound to diverge.

Within Zen, enlightenment functions as the criterion of authentic Zen because (it is believed)
"enlightenment" and "Zen" do not refer to two different phenomena. D. T. Suzuki, speaking
from this standpoint, asserts that "Zen and satori are synonymous." 38 It may be helpful here to
distinguish between conventional and ultimate standpoints, as Buddhist and Zen teachers
sometimes do. According to this approach, from the ultimate standpoint enlightenment is the
one and only criterion of authentic Zen, even if that truth breaks down on the conventional
level. In other words, Dōgen can assert unequivocally that the buddhas' enlightenment is the
sole touchstone of Dharma transmission (an ultimate-level claim) and at the same time argue
that without a proper certificate of transmission one cannot be considered a Dharma heir (a
conventional-level distinction).

For an observer sympathetic to the Zen tradition but standing outside it, the relation between
Zen and enlightenment is not as straightforward as the synonymity affirmed by Suzuki. The
Zen discourse about authenticity certainly begins with enlightenment, but it does not end
there. In a number of cases, enlightenment alone does not appear to determine or guarantee
authentic Zen. One finds, for example, that certifiably enlightened Zen monks are censured as
inadequate or even as heterodox on other grounds. Additional factors prevent enlightenment
from functioning as a self-sufficient criterion of authenticity: it is variously experienced, it is
difficult to demonstrate, and it can deepen or fade over time. Masters concede that one may
even have an enlightenment experience and not recognize it as such. "Do not think you will
necessarily be aware of your own enlightenment," Dōgen reportedly taught. 39 Nor is
enlightenment, by itself, able to establish Zen's distinctiveness as a sect—there are awakened
masters in other Buddhist and non-Buddhist traditions.

What are the criteria for enlightenment itself? Again the traditional and scholarly approaches
diverge. Within Zen, genuine enlightenment is supposed to be self-authenticating (jishō), as
Dōgen writes in one of his later essays. 40 At the same time, Zen claims that enlightenment is
objectively verifiable by those who are qualified to judge. An approxi

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mate analogy for the experience and its recognition might be a happily married mother who
can tell at a glance that her daughter has fallen in love. The mother may not be able to explain
"falling in love" or cause her daughter to feel it, but, since she has had the experience herself,
she can recognize it in anyone she knows well. In this case, the criterion is actually the
experience itself, though the specific signs will vary considerably. 41 Similarly, a master
(using his own experience as the criterion) is supposed to be able to recognize a disciple's
enlightenment, even if the clue is as subtle as a smile.

74
But, a scholar might ask, what if the mother or the daughter thought she had fallen in love but
later concluded that she had not? Are there not degrees of depth, hidden cultural assumptions,
learned patterns of behavior, and other factors that must also be considered? Zen lore is full of
incidents in which monks who were absolutely certain of the authenticity of their
enlightenment were sharply rebuffed by a teacher. Masters also challenge each other
regularly. Eisai accused Nōnin of false self-enlightenment, and Dōgen leveled similar charges
against Ta-hui. Dōgen even rejected Ta-hui's crowning enlightenment, which had been
sanctioned by a distinguished master. What are we to conclude about a "criterion" that is itself
the focus of such heated contention?

Scholars and practitioners may concur on one point at least: in the end, all notions of
"enlightenment" become problematic. Because the word reifies that which is supposed to be
beyond reification, the more it is used, the more it congeals into what it is not. For Zen monks
and masters the solution is to experience enlightenment and live it, whereby these and other
conceptual dilemmas come to be seen in a different light. As Lan-ch'i taught: "Delusion and
enlightenment just depend on the deceiving mind—in the real mind there is no illusion or
enlightenment. Sentient beings and buddhas are basically deluded or enlightened on the basis
of one mind; when you comprehend its true nature, then ultimately there is no distinction
between ordinary man and sage." 42

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7
CLARIFYING THE
ESSENTIALS OF ZEN

AS a transitional figure who bridges the evolving Zen of the Kamakura period and the
established Zen of the Muromachi period, Daitō sheds light on his predecessors and his
successors. In order to assess Daitō's Zen, it is instructive to consider the dialogical matrix in
which he operated. Scholars are increasingly aware of the degree to which the early Zen
masters were responding to each other and to the tradition, manifesting what is now called
intersubjectivity and intertextuality. 1 Zen was also a "mind-to-mind transmission" in a
conventional sense; inescapably, Daitō was shaped by his religious and cultural inheritance.

The discourse of early Japanese Zen was heterogeneous, characterized by discord as well as
consensus. Even as they clarified their conceptions of authentic Zen, the Japanese masters
continued to disagree about a number of fundamental points. For example, zazen was widely
regarded as indispensable, yet masters also held divergent views about the most correct or
effective type of zazen. The intensity and occasional acrimony of the early debates can be
seen in the following statement by Eisai. Responding to a questioner who alludes to the
Daruma school, Eisai gives his own outline of the essentials of Zen, sharply rejecting other
approaches:

This Zen school despises masters of dim enlightenment, and it abhors those who hold
a false view of emptiness. They are as detestable as corpses at the bottom of the sea.
To follow the perfect teaching, to cultivate complete and sudden enlightenment,
outwardly to avoid transgressions according to the disciplinary code, inwardly to
exercise compassion for the benefit of others—that is what we mean by the

75
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Zen school, that is called the Buddha-Dharma. Those whose realization is blind and
whose view of emptiness is false do not understand this. They are thieves in the
Buddha-Dharma. 2

Eisai is forced to make a distinction between true and false enlightenment, and he is
compelled to cite a number of other attributes of genuine Zen. Speaking strictly from an
ultimate standpoint, masters would deny that factors such as adherence to the disciplinary
code could serve as touchstones of real Zen—they were signs of Zen, but not Zen itself.
Speaking on the conventional level, however, masters would argue that a certain style of
zazen or a properly constructed monastery were indeed critical features of genuine Zen.
Properly understood, the two levels were not supposed to contradict each other. This chapter
surveys five of the features most often cited as essentials of Zen: zazen, emblems of Dharma
transmission, the monastic rule, monastery construction, and withdrawal from the world. A
sixth indicator—the response to the textual tradition—will be addressed in Chapter 10, in
connection with Daitō's commentaries.

Zazen

Although most Buddhist schools employ meditation in one form or another, zazen (seated
meditation) is the sine qua non of Zen. 3 The name of the Zen school is taken from the
Sanskrit word for meditation, dhyāna, which was transliterated (and shortened) in Chinese as
ch'an, a character that is pronounced zen in Japanese. In physical terms, zazen means sitting
in a proper cross-legged posture, back erect and eyes lowered but not closed. The mind is
turned inward and placed at one point until it is no longer distracted by random thoughts.
Depending on the type of zazen, the focus of attention is usually one of the following: the
breath, a part of the body (such as the lower belly), a koan, or awareness itself.

Though zazen was variously conceived, its centrality was stressed at every stage of Ch'an's
development. According to tradition, Bodhidharma did zazen in a cave for nine years after his
arrival in China. The Fifth Patriarch Hung-jen ( 600-674) advocated a type of zazen that had
much in common with other forms of Buddhist meditation: "Make your body and mind pure
and peaceful, without any discriminative thinking at all. Sit properly with the body erect.
Regulate the breath and concentrate the mind so it is not within you, not outside of you, and
not in any intermediate location." 4 In the T'ang dynasty Chao-chou gained renown for his
lifelong dedication to sitting. He reportedly claimed, "For thirty years in the southern regions I
did zazen continuously except for the two meal periods." 5 During the Sung period the

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standard monastic routine in the major Ch'an monasteries included four different sessions of
zazen per day.

Within this apparent consensus, various terms were used for concentration, meditation, or
seated meditation, and their interpretation was linked to the discourse about authenticity in
Ch'an. 6 Most conceptions of zazen embraced the actual practice of seated meditation, but
some formulations challenged the necessity of the traditional posture. Huineng, for example,
criticized immobile sitting and redefined zazen without reference to any physical activity.

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Later, Hung-chih Chengchüeh ( 1091-1157) taught a "silent-illumination" zazen in which the
body and the mind are completely at rest, while his contemporary Tahui advocated a more
energetic "investigation" of koans. Though some form of zazen was universally affirmed,
many aspects of the practice were not transmitted in texts; for centuries instruction in the
specifics of meditation remained largely an oral tradition. The influential Record of Lin-chi
mentions zazen only twice in passing. 7 The earliest known Ch'an meditation manual, the brief
Principles of Meditation (Tso-ch'an i), did not appear until 1103, as part of the Pure Rules for
Ch'an Monasteries (Ch'an-yüan ch'ing-kuei). 8

The Pure Rules and its tract on meditation were introduced to Japan in the late twelfth and
early thirteenth centuries by pilgrims such as Eisai and Dōgen. Many of the Zen pioneers also
composed new or supplementary meditation manuals, recasting the Chinese models in their
own voices. Eisai outlined the fundamentals of zazen in a section of his principal work,
Promulgation of Zen as a Defense of the Nation (Kōzen gokokuron). Dōgen composed his
Universal Promotion of the Principles of Meditation (Fukan zazengi) sometime after his
return to Japan in 1227. Lan-ch'i wrote his Treatise on Meditation (Zazenron) shortly after his
arrival in 1246, and Kakushin drew up his Principles of Meditation (Zazengi) a decade later.

In these and other works, zazen was acclaimed as the core of practice and the wellspring of
doctrine. Alluding to classic Ch'an formulations, the leading masters often echoed one
another: Eisai and Dōgen both called zazen "the Dharma gate of great ease and joy," Lan-ch'i
praised zazen as "the Dharma gate of great liberation," and Enni reiterated that "the school of
zazen is the way of great liberation." 9 Lan-ch'i was praised for having "exhorted those who
joined the assembly as Zen monks to devote themselves exclusively to zazen." 10 The four
daily sessions of zazen were strictly enforced even in temples where the practices of more
than one sect were permitted. Musō was not alone when he insisted: "With the exception only
of bath days and those days on which there are meetings with the abbot, four daily sessions of
zazen must be held, even at the hottest and coldest periods of the year." 11

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Zazen and enlightenment were considered to be intimately related, as inseparable as two sides
of the same coin. From a conventional standpoint, zazen could legitimately be regarded as the
most effective path to enlightenment. But from an ultimate standpoint, zazen and
enlightenment were not to be treated dualistically; practitioners were supposed to grasp that
the activity of zazen took place within enlightenment and that enlightenment was fully
embodied in zazen. In this spirit, Lan-ch'i taught: "When you sit once in meditation, you are a
buddha for that sitting; when you sit for a day in meditation, you are a buddha for a day; when
you sit in meditation all your life, you are a buddha all your life." 12 Dōgen's formulations of
the matter were more emphatic. For example, in a well-known passage from Bendōwa he
asserted: "Because one's present practice arises from enlightenment, one's initial treading of
the Way is itself the whole of original enlightenment." 13 In an apparent attempt to express his
stance in the most radical possible terms, Dōgen explicitly equated the seated posture with
ultimate enlightenment: "Sitting is itself the treasury of the eye of the true Dharma and the
mystic mind of nirvana." 14

Together with the shared understandings of zazen, there was also considerable variation in
regard to its specific content. Besides the basic breath practices, some teachers stressed the
classic Chinese koans, some devised new koans for their warrior students, and some favored
forms of self-inquiry such as "What is this Mind?" or "Who is it that hears?" Dōgen advocated

77
a type of objectless awareness that he called "just sitting" (shikantaza). One persistent issue
concerned the relation of zazen to practices advocated by other Buddhist sects, especially the
recitation of sutras and the invocation of Amida Buddha's name (nenbutsu). In Sung China,
zazen was one of many practices taught at the large public monasteries designated as "Ch'an,"
and in Japan these other practices were also accepted by many masters. For Lan-ch'i,
nenbutsu and sutra chanting were a source of benefits in future lives, notably "great wisdom"
and rebirth "in a Buddha-land." 15 Jakushitsu Genkō ( 1290- 1367) went so far as to assert that
nenbutsu practice and Zen practice "have different names but are essentially the same." 16 But
Dōgen expressed a different view:

Intending to attain the Buddha Way by foolishly working your lips in incessant
thousand or ten thousand-fold recitations is just like pointing the thills of your cart
north when you want to go south.... Lifting your voice in endless recitation is like the
frogs in the spring fields, croaking from morning to nightfall...without benefit. 17

At our historical distance it is often difficult to assess the relative force of agreement or
disagreement in the discourse of early Japanese Zen.

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Whether Dōgen's approach to zazen differed significantly from that of his peers or
predecessors is one of the issues that continues to engage scholars. Recent research has shown
that Dōgen borrowed extensively from the Pure Rules for Ch'an Monasteries in his Principles
of Meditation. Hee-jin Kim concedes that "the external form of Dōgen's zazen was not much
different" from the zazen taught in the Pure Rules, and Carl Bielefeldt notes that Dōgen
introduced his meditation manual with statements that "could have been said by virtually any
Ch'an master from the mid-T'ang on." 18 Kim nonetheless attributes to Dōgen "a radically
different conception of zazen in its content and significance." 19

Emblems of Dharma Transmission

Zen teaches that genuine enlightenment, in any age, is essentially the same enlightenment that
Shakyamuni Buddha experienced. As Wumen asserted, someone who has awakened can "see
with the same eyes and hear with the same ears" as the "whole line of patriarchs." 20 This
spiritual continuity is often conceived as a transmission (Ch. ch'uan; Jp. den) of Mind or
Dharma or the "lamp" of enlightenment. More than an initiation, Zen transmission is
described as a direct and nonverbal communication of truth between master and disciple, a
mutual recognition and a mutual confirmation. The tradition stipulates that nothing is handed
down—even a great master cannot bestow enlightenment on someone else.

The principle of mind-to-mind transmission also played a central role in Ch'an's early
attempts to define itself. In eighth-century China, adherents of Ch'an teachings sought to
differentiate themselves from other Buddhist followers, most of whom had already set up
lineages identifying their spiritual predecessors. Ch'an developed a comparable lineage to
demonstrate that it had faithfully transmitted the Dharma in an unbroken line from
Shakyamuni. The earliest known Ch'an reference to the concept of mind-to-mind transmission
is found in an epitaph for the monk Fa-ju ( 638-689): "The transmission [of the teaching] in
India was fundamentally without words, [so that] entrance into this teaching is solely
[dependent on] the transmission of the mind." 21

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The many accounts of Dharma transmission from master to disciple were an essential element
of Ch'an and Zen. According to tradition, Shakyamuni initiated the process when he silently
held up a lotus flower during a sermon. Only Kāōyapa, a senior disciple, smiled in
comprehension. Shakyamuni then proclaimed (in the version that became standard) that he
was entrusting "the true Dharma eye, the marvelous mind of nirvana" to Kāōyapa. 22 Another
significant point in the traditional lineage was the transmission from Bodhidharma to his
Chinese heir, Hui-k'o ( 487-593). When Bodhidharma asked his three senior dis

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ciples to express their understanding, the answers of the first two disciples were adequate, and
the master told them that they had attained him in his "flesh" and his "bones," respectively.
The last disciple to respond was Hui-k'o, who said, "Fundamentally, there are no delusive
passions; from the very beginning [the mind] is enlightened." Bodhidharma replied, "You
have attained me in my marrow." 23 In a later version of this story, there were four disciples,
each with new answers. Bodhidharma told the first three disciples that they had attained him
in his skin, flesh, and bones. When Hui-k'o's turn came, he bowed deeply to his master and
silently returned to his place. Again Hui-k'o attained Bodhidharma in his marrow and became
the Dharma successor. 24

Within Zen the marks of enlightenment can be as subtle as a twinkle in the eye or a mien of
deep composure, yet the Zen institution also needed some standard means of identifying those
whose enlightenment had been sanctioned authoritatively. Accordingly, spiritual succession in
Ch'an and Zen was often substantiated by a variety of symbols. The Fifth Patriarch instructed
his heir, Hui-neng, "The robe is the proof and is to be handed down from generation to
generation." 25 Huang-po Hsi-yün (d. 850?) similarly offered his former teacher's armrest to
his principal heir, Lin-chi. 26 By the Sung period, almost any object associated with the master
could serve as an insignia of transmission: a robe, an alms bowl, a staff, a prostration cloth, a
whisk, a book, an impromptu verse, or a portrait. Formal documents of succession and seals
of enlightenment had a practical as well as a spiritual value: recognized by civil authorities as
legal documents, they provided aspiring masters with the equivalent of a license required to
ply a trade. A new abbot, upon his inauguration, customarily named the teacher who had
sanctioned him, and those credentials figured prominently in any assessments of him or his
temple. Griffith Foulk has argued that the most reliable indicator of a "Ch'an master" in Sung
Buddhism, at least from an institutional standpoint, was not his adherence to particular
doctrines or practices, but his possession of a Ch'an inheritance certificate. 27

A seal of enlightenment (inkajō, denbōin) was a master's written confirmation of a disciple's

attainment, which was supposed to equal or even exceed the master's own insight. These texts
varied in format, sometimes combining praise, "censure," obscure allusions, and specific
advice. As we have seen, Nanpo responded in writing to Daitō's enlightenment poems: "You
have already cast away brightness and united with darkness. I am not equal to you. Because of
you, my school will become firmly established. Before making this sanction public, you must
continue your spiritual cultivation for twenty years." 28 Documents of succession (shisho)
were charts depicting the traditional Ch'an/

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Zen lineage. They began with Shakyamuni or the "seven Buddhas of the past," went on to list
twenty-eight Indian patriarchs, six Chinese patriarchs, the Chinese masters of a particular

79
branch, the monk's own master, and lastly the monk himself. For example, a document
presented to Enni Ben'en featured him as the fifty-fourth heir to the transmission, following
his teacher Wu-chun. 29 One Zen pioneer who valued such documents was Dōgen. During his
stay in China he managed to inspect five "secret" lineage charts, and upon his return he
insisted: "In the Buddha Way, whenever the Dharma is inherited there must be a document of
succession. Unless the Dharma is handed down, the heresy of spontaneous [enlightenment]
arises.... For one to become a buddha, there must be the document of succession that is
transmitted from buddha to buddha." 30

A portrait (chinsō) of one's master was also used as proof of Dharma transmission. The
master's pose seldom varied: he sat in an oversized lacquer chair, his legs crossed in the full-
lotus position under his ceremonial robe, his expression dignified and stern. If the portrait
bore the master's personal inscription, it was even more valuable. Before Nanpo returned to
Japan, he received a chinsō of his master Hsü-t'ang; it included an inscription that began, "The
succession is now unmistakably assured." 31 Hsü-t'ang seems to have been unusually generous
with his portraits; so many were brought back to Japan that Ikkyū later discovered one in a
secondhand store. 32

Another important emblem of succession was the monastic robe or shawl (hōe, kesa), usually
a large rectangle of pieced panels, about five feet by nine feet, worn across one shoulder. The
oldest known Ch'an kesa in Japan was brought from China by Saichō in 805. Dōgen's teacher
Ju-ching had refused to wear the symbolic robe in China, but he reassured the departing
Dōgen: "There is nothing to prevent you from wearing the Dharma robe in your home
country, Japan." 33 Robes of elegant Chinese silk worn by such figures as Wu-chun Shih-fan,
Wuhsüeh Tsu-yüan, and Zekkai Chōshin ( 1336-1405) have been reverently preserved in
Japanese Zen temples. 34

Dainichi Nōnin illustrates the plight of those with inadequate certification. As noted earlier,
he began teaching Zen on his own authority, using the Ch'an texts that had been transmitted
within the Tendai sect. When his opponents challenged his credentials, he sent two disciples
to China with a letter or a poem that expressed his Zen understanding. Fo-chao Te-kuang
( 1121-1203), an heir of the famous Ta-hui Tsungkao, responded favorably to Nōnin's
entreaty and validated his enlightenment. The two disciples reportedly returned with a
Dharma robe, an inscribed picture of Bodhidharma, and an inscribed portrait of Te-kuang.
This incident may prompt questions about "mind-to-mind

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transmission," but it shows the significance accorded to insignia of Dharma succession.

Perhaps in response to insecurity about its status, Nōnin's Daruma school embraced the
popular Asian practice of handing down jewel-like grains believed to be the remains of great
masters or bodhisattvas. Possession of such relics (shari) was a persuasive means of
establishing authenticity. 35

In their attempt to clarify the essential elements of Zen, the early Japanese pioneers accorded
considerable significance to emblems of Dharma transmission. For several hundred years
there were no wellknown masters who deliberately spurned traditional forms of certification.
By the mid-fifteenth century, however, abuses had become apparent, and some masters no
longer regarded these emblems as meaningful indicators of genuine Zen. Ikkyū Sōjun
reportedly ripped his seal of enlightenment to pieces, and when his students tried to repair the

80
document he then burned it. 36 In further protest of the system, Ikkyū refused to certify any of
his own disciples.

The Monastic Rule

The operation of a Zen monastery was governed by time-honored traditions, precepts, and
codes. The "pure regulations" (Ch. ch'ing-kuei; Jp. shingi) of the monastic rule shaped all
aspects of monastic life: the daily schedule; the procedures for meditation, work, sleep, and
other activities; the duties of monastic officers; the policies regarding absence and guests; the
management of landholdings; and the administration of branch temples. The various elements
of the monastic rule were not regarded as arbitrary or imposed from outside, but as natural
expressions of an enlightened mind, handed down from Shakyamuni Buddha and the Zen
patriarchs. Though historians now suspect that "Ch'an" monasticism was actually standard
Sung Buddhist monasticism, the Japanese pioneers treated this institutional framework as an
essential feature of authentic Ch'an/Zen. "Monks of a single generation should bear in mind
the thousand-year legacy," declared Musō in reference to the regulations. 37 For Dōgen,
"Ch'an" monasticism preserved the entire Buddhist monastic tradition:

You should know that the monastery layout and ritual procedures found in today's so-
called Ch'an cloisters are all [in accord with] the instructions of the patriarchs
themselves. They are the direct transmission of the true [Dharma] heirs. Therefore, the
ancient [monastery] arrangement of the Seven Buddhas is found only in Ch'an
cloisters.... The ritual procedures followed in these cloisters today are in truth the
authentic transmission of the buddhas and patriarchs. 38

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The concrete aspects of the monastic rule allowed it to be replicated with relative certainty;
many details of daily life in the larger Japanese monasteries conformed to Chinese precedents
by the end of the Kamakura period.

The first communities associated with Ch'an teachings were established during the seventh
century in the mountains of south-central China, though scholars no longer assume that the
early adherents of Ch'an constituted a distinct sect. Pai-chang Huai-hai ( 720-814) is
traditionally revered as the founder of the monastic rule, yet none of the surviving monastic
codes can be reliably attributed to him. The earliest description of Ch'an monastic life appears
in a text of 1004 called Regulations of the Ch'an Approach (Ch'an-men kuei-shih), and the
oldest full-scale monastic code is Pure Rules for Ch'an Monasteries, dated 1103. The latter
text was brought to Japan in the twelfth century; by 1330 four other Chinese codes had also
been transmitted. Using these works as models, many of the pioneers of Japanese Zen
compiled their own monastic codes. 39

Dōgen, one of the most outspoken advocates of the monastic rule, left extensive essays
governing the daily behavior of monks. Because his Treasury of the True Dharma Eye has
come to be regarded as a classic of Zen thought, one tends to forget that about a third of this
text is devoted to guidelines regarding meditation, study, dress, meals, bathing, and sleep. In
another work Dōgen cites the Buddha as an authority on dental hygiene:

Next we take up a toothbrush and say with our hands clasped:

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 As I lift this toothbrush, may all beings be uplifted; may the correct Dharma
reach their ears and purify their minds....

The Buddha says, "The thicker end of a toothbrush should not be frayed more than
one-third of its length." In polishing our teeth or scraping dirt off our tongues, we must
follow the Buddha's teachings. 40

Such passages were intended not only to teach monks how to behave; masters also sought to
imbue every act with spiritual significance. A Sōtō Zen maxim interpreted this orientation in
extreme terms: "Etiquette is the Buddha's teaching; ritual propriety is the essential principle of
our school." 41

At least two controversial points were also related to the monastic rule. One was the validity
of Zen training for lay people in an era when the monastic character of Zen predominated.
Some masters explicitly

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stressed the advantages and virtues of monkhood. In his "Final Admonitions," Nanpo
declared:

Those who enter the gate of Buddhism should first of all cherish a firm faith in the
dignity and respectability of monkhood.... Its respectability is that of the fatherhood of
all sentient beings; no parental respectability belonging only to the head of a little
family group equals it.... The shaven head and the dyed garment are the noble marks of
a bodhisattva. 42

At the same time, Ch'an had a long tradition of eminent laymen, and in Japan the émigré
Chinese masters freely accepted warriors as disciples, certifying the enlightenment of several
prominent figures. Most of the other Zen pioneers continued to encourage lay practice, for
women as well as men. Jakushitsu Genkō justified this approach in the following terms:

If you misunderstand your mind, you are an ordinary man; if you realize your mind,
you are a sage. There is no difference at all whether man, woman, old, young, wise,
foolish, human, animal, whatever. Thus, in the Lotus of Truth assembly, was it not the
eightyear-old Nāga girl who went directly south to the undefiled world Amala, sat on a
jewel lotus flower, and realized universal complete enlightenment? 43

The tension between the two sides of this issue could also be seen in the thought of one
person. Dōgen initially taught that enlightenment was equally accessible to all: "In the
comprehension of the Buddha- Dharma there must be no distinction between man and
woman, high and low.... It is simply a question of whether the will is there or not." 44
Reversing his position after his move to Echizen in 1243, he proclaimed that only monks were
qualified to practice Zen and that no layman in the history of Buddhism had ever achieved
genuine enlightenment. 45 "Even if a monk violates the precepts, he is superior to a layman
who does not violate the precepts," Dōgen argued. 46 Although Dōgen may have been
adapting his rhetoric for different audiences, such vacillation suggests that his perceptions of
Zen were far from static.

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A second subject of dissension was the role of the Buddhist precepts, which were an
important part of the monastic rule. The precepts proscribed killing, theft, unchastity, lying,
intoxication, and other transgressions. "After receiving the precepts, one should always
uphold them," the Pure Rules stated. "It is better to keep the rules and die than to have no
rules and live." 47 In Zen the precepts were regarded as direct expressions of enlightenment,
not as a set of commandments imposed

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by divine authority or social exigency. Eisai, still identifying himself with the Tendai
tradition, sought to restore the precepts to prominence in all forms of Japanese Buddhism, and
he was alarmed to find his compatriot Dainichi Nōnin teaching a style of Zen that openly
challenged the precepts. Nōnin's adherents reportedly claimed, "There are no precepts to
follow, no practices to engage in." 48

The position associated with Nōnin was branded as heterodox, and this particular controversy
soon subsided. In fact, references to the precepts or to broad ethical issues are scarce in the
writings of the early Japanese masters. On a doctrinal level, Zen claimed to precede morality,
and the prescriptive interpretation of the precepts was considered secondary. On a practical
level, a certain standard of behavior was simply assumed. In the closely supervised communal
environment of a monastery, a monk who committed an offense would soon be exposed and
disciplined. Another factor in the fading of the precept issue may have been the instrinsic
Japanese reluctance to make sharp ethical judgments about "good" and "evil." Excessive
preoccupation with moral codes tends to open a gap between the sacred and the secular, and
to discredit those people whose lives may involve transgressions that monks are able to avoid.
Whatever the reasons, morality rarely functioned as a principal or independent standard of
authenticity in early Japanese Zen.

Zen monastic life revealed sharp contrasts between extremes of restriction and freedom. The
Zen way was supposed to nurture a mind unfettered by convention or conventional thinking,
and the tradition esteemed those who expressed their spiritual liberation through eccentricity.
At the same time, the routine of a typical monk was tightly circumscribed by daily, monthly,
and annual schedules; a rigid hierarchy based on seniority; and the austere simplicity of the
monastic lifestyle. The constrained and unconstrained dimensions of Zen life can be clearly
seen in the private meeting between master and disciple, especially as it developed in the
Rinzai sect. Though most aspects of this encounter were governed by etiquette and ritualized
procedures, during one crucial interval both participants were free to act in any way that
enabled them to demonstrate their Zen, even if that called for rudeness, violence, silliness, or
irrationality. On a larger scale as well, the pressures created by the monastic rule were
deliberately heightened to induce spiritual breakthroughs. Ideally, this form of training
enabled a Zen monk to transcend any disjunction between "outer restriction" and "inner
freedom." A person could express spiritual liberation in the observance of the daily routine,
performing ordinary tasks wholeheartedly. A well-known Zen saying makes this point
concretely: "Carrying water and hauling wood—how mysterious, how wonderful!" 49

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Monastery Construction

83
The need to clarify the essentials of Zen was also evident in the construction of the first
Japanese Zen monasteries. Bypassing indigenous architectural forms and shunning temple
designs used in the older Japanese Buddhist sects, the Zen pioneers were determined to
replicate the type of monastic architecture then current in China, a style they identified with
Ch'an. A monastery was supposed to be the optimal environment for teaching and training,
perfected over countless generations by awakened masters. Dōgen was not alone in depicting
the monastic layout as "the direct transmission of the true [Dharma] heirs." 50 In a similar
spirit Nanpo affirmed, "The temple buildings with all their ornamental fixtures are the
honorific emblems of Buddhist virtue. They have nothing to do with mere decorative effects."
51

Many of the Japanese pilgrims studied the specifications of Sung monastic architecture as
eagerly as they applied themselves to Zen training. After their return, they sometimes
dispatched disciples to China to acquire further designs, and they arranged for skilled Chinese
carpenters and sculptors to be escorted to Japan. These efforts, sustained throughout the early
phases of transmission, resulted in the faithful reproduction of many aspects of Chinese
temples: massive masonry foundations, tiled floors, stone pedestals for the wooden columns,
solid walls, swinging doors, graceful bell-shaped windows, and sweeping tiled roofs
supported by curved wooden brackets.

The standard layout of a Sung Ch'an monastery was also duplicated whenever possible.
Though Dōgen and others sought to emphasize the differences between Ch'an and non-Ch'an
monasteries, in Sung China the leading Ch'an, Discipline (Lü), and Doctrine (Chiao)
monasteries had essentially the same physical layouts. 52 The Japanese preserved a central,
south-facing axis composed of an entrance gate, a Buddha hall, and a Dharma hall. The
monks' hall and latrine were on the west side of this axis, the kitchen-office and bathhouse
were on the east, and the abbot's residence was usually located near the apex of the
configuration. A typical compound also included a reading room, a bell tower, an attendants'
hall, a pagoda, and storehouses. In some cases, subtemples on the premises had extensive
facilities and gardens of their own.

The assumption that the presence of a particular building enhanced authenticity led to
consideration of the relative importance of different structures. At least according to the
records that have survived, Eisai stressed the walls and gates, Dōgen the monks' hall, and
Musō the abbot's quarters. Wu-hsüeh gave prominence to a Buddha hall at Engakuji, whereas
Daitō inaugurated Daitokuji with just a Dharma hall. The strong motivation to uphold
precedents in the layout and construc

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tion of monasteries stemmed from the conviction that such details were a vital feature of
genuine Zen.

The first structure one encountered as one approached a Zen compound was the entrance gate
(sanmon). An imposing two-tiered building with heavy, upward-curving eaves, it often had
outside stairways leading to a usable second story. Originally, this gate was linked to a walled
enclosure. For Eisai, the gates and walls of the monastery performed a vital task: "There
should be walled cloisters on all four sides with no side gates and only a single gate to permit
entrance and exit. The gatekeeper must see to it that the gate is closed at dusk and opened at
dawn. Nuns, women, or evil people should on no account be permitted to stay overnight." 53

84
Not only "women and evil people" but even outside monks were ordinarily banned from
staying overnight, so that the routine of the resident monks would not be disturbed.

The Buddha hall (butsuden), positioned some distance behind the entrance gate, was a large,
nearly square building two stories tall. Its open interior had an impressive vertical quality that
reflected the Chinese fondness for height. A Buddha hall typically housed figures of
Shakyamuni and several attendant bodhisattvas, who were venerated in public and private
devotional services. The lacquered wooden tablets in front of these images bore such worldly
inscriptions as "Long Live the Emperor" and "Prosperity and Good Fortune to Patrons,"
standard Chinese Buddhist formulas that also had relevance in their new Japanese setting. At
the head of the central axis was the Dharma hall (hattō), similar in construction to the Buddha
hall. The principal furnishing inside this hall was the dais used by the abbot when he delivered
his Dharma lecture; otherwise the interior was left bare to accommodate the congregation of
monks.

Ch'an traditionally gave the Dharma hall precedence over the Buddha hall, in deference to the
master's status as a "living buddha." The subordinate role of the Buddha hall was supposed to
distinguish Ch'an from the doctrinal schools, but Buddha halls were found in all of the large
Sung monasteries, and they were accordingly accepted in Japanese Zen. In 1270, when Nanpo
became abbot of Kōtokuji in Kyushu, he alluded critically to two T'ang masters who had
opposed Buddha halls: "Tung-shan and Yün-men saw only the point of the awl; they did not
see the squared tip of the chisel. My approach is different. At the entrance gate, I place my
hands palm-to-palm; in the Buddha hall, I light incense." 54

Near the top of the central axis was the abbot's residence (hōjō), one of the few buildings in
the monastic compound that reflected Japanese architectural styles. There the master lived
apart from the trainees, waited upon by one or more attendant monks. Because the master
often

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conducted his private interviews with disciples in the hōjō, it too was highly valued. Musō
gave the abbot's quarters priority even over a Dharma hall in a middle-sized monastery: "It is
not essential to establish a Dharma hall.... If the abbot truly has the capacity of the great
masters of the past, then he may sit squarely in his own quarters and instruct those who visit
him there." 55

A final structure, the monks' hall (sōdō), eventually became the spiritual and institutional
heart of the Zen monastic system in Japan. Inside this hall were long wooden platforms where
the monks communally meditated, slept, chanted sutras, ate certain meals, and participated in
various rituals. For these activities each monk was allotted a space less than three feet by six
feet on a section of the platform. Direct exposure to life in Ch'an monks' halls made a deep
impression on the Japanese pilgrims who went to China. As Dōgen recalled: "I personally saw
in great Sung China Ch'an monasteries in many areas, each built to include a meditation hall,
wherein from five or six hundred to one or two thousand monks were housed and encouraged
to devote themselves to zazen day and night." 56 The monks' halls that Dōgen built at Kōshōji
and Eiheiji in the mid-thirteenth century appear to have been the first Sung-style sōdō in
Japan. 57 "The cardinal monastic buildings are the Buddha hall, Dharma hall, and monks'
hall," Dōgen wrote, and among them "the monks' hall is most vital." 58

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 Withdrawal from the World

The marks of genuine Zen could be as tangible as the layout of a monastery or as intangible as
a spirit of detachment from the affairs of the world. Because various forms of seclusion had
long been extolled in many Asian cultures, this trait was by no means associated exclusively
with Zen. Nonetheless, transcendence of the mundane world was both an aim and an
indication of the Zen life. To become a Zen monk one "left home" (shukke), an act that
originally signified a withdrawal from society and its obligations. Shukke also meant seeing
the illusoriness of the world of relativity, "leaving" it to dwell in the formless Dharma realm.
A person with the "Dharma eye" (hō no manako) was supposedly free of attachment to
wealth, power, recognition, and other worldly enticements.

The fact that the Zen institution itself was very much in society added a level of complexity to
this ideal. During the period of Zen's introduction to Japan, there was a need to stabilize and
strengthen the institution rather than to restrain or reform it. Nearly all of the early masters
embraced the argument that Zen would contribute significantly to the welfare of the nation.
For individual practitioners, many aspects of life

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within a monastery could be just as worldly as what went on outside the monastery's gates.
Here other interpretations of shukke became operative: it was taught that one could even be
actively engaged in secular or religious affairs and remain free from attachment or defilement.
Like the proverbial lotus flower that was rooted in mud yet blossomed beautifully above it, a
true Zen devotee—monastic or lay—aspired to transmute the given conditions of life into a
path of liberation. The unworldliness prized by Zen was not simply world-denying.

The favored signs of inner detachment have included poverty, seclusion, and eccentricity.
Several important Ch'an figures were associated with these traits, in accounts that may have
been more legendary than factual. Bodhidharma was renowned for his alleged nine years of
zazen inside a remote mountain cave. The T'ang master Fen-chou Wu-yeh ( 762-823) stressed
that the ancient sages "erased their traces and completely forgot the world" for twenty or
thirty years. 59 Chao-chou repeatedly refused offers of financial assistance from his
supporters: "When the broken-down walls of his meditation hall let in the harsh winter winds
of North China, and when his preaching platform collapsed from rot and decay, he merely
patched them up with old planks and pieces of rope." 60 The roster of unworldly exemplars
also included laymen such as P'ang Yün, who gave away his house and sank his possessions
in a river. Lung-ya Chü-tun ( 835-923) declared, "Only after studying poverty and becoming
poor can you be intimate with the Way." 61

Withdrawal from the world is variously depicted in the Record of Linchi. In a sermon Lin-chi
declares that the powers of a buddha include "entering the world of color yet not being
deluded by color; entering the world of sound yet not being deluded by sound; entering the
world of odor yet not being deluded by odor...entering the world of dharmas yet not being
deluded by dharmas." 62 One of Lin-chi's companions, P'u-hua, embodies another aspect of
this ideal. He is described as "acting like a lunatic." Invited to dine at a patron's house, P'u-hua
kicked over the dinner table. When he was ready to die, he reportedly got into his coffin and
asked a passerby to nail it up. 63 Such was the behavior of the free spirits who were thought to
have transcended the world.

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The early Japanese Zen masters similarly embraced the themes of withdrawal and
detachment, linking them implicitly or explicitly to genuine Zen. Keizan extolled the
"uncommon person who has transcended [the world]" (chōzetsu no ijin). 64 "Be satisfied with
simplicity," Musō exhorted his monks, adding that "past seekers of the Way sat on rocks and
under trees, preferring isolated valleys and craggy ledges." 65 Dōgen, who frequently quoted
his Chinese master's indictment of worldliness, wrote that "buddhas and patriarchs have never
desired

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halls or pavilions." 66 "From the time of the Buddha till the present," Dōgen also stated, "we
have never seen or heard of a true practitioner of the Way who possessed wealth." 67

Dōgen is traditionally depicted as having fulfilled a yearning for seclusion "among the deep
mountains and still valleys" when he built a temple in distant Echizen province. 68 Yet the
historical evidence suggests that Dōgen actively pursued political patronage during the first
thirteen years after his return from China and that he retreated reluctantly to Echizen only
after failing to establish himself in Kyoto. 69 It is difficult to determine which masters, if any,
withdrew from the world in a literal as well as a spiritual sense. When Bassui was an itinerant
monk, he reportedly refused to stay overnight in large temples, declaring that "temples are not
the only sites of Buddha-Dharma or the vocation of monkhood." 70 Kakushin, summoned to
Kyoto by the court, protested that he was "not virtuous enough to be the teacher of an
emperor," and he left the capital at the first opportunity. 71 Declining a similar invitation to
serve as founder of Nanzenji, Kakushin was apparently content to remain the abbot of a small
mountain temple in Kii province.

The biography of the reclusive Kanzan Egen has for a long time been augmented by colorful
legends. Before his appointment as founderabbot of Myōshinji, Kanzan allegedly had to be
retrieved from an obscure country village. His residence at Myōshinji was said to be so
humble that the roof leaked whenever it rained. A story from Zen lore involving Kanzan and
Musō expresses the ideal of unworldliness by contrasting the two masters:

Musō was constantly making visits to the court. This was out of his concern for the
country—his good intention to do something to reunite the northern and southern
courts. The way to and from the palace ran right past Myōshinji temple, so it seems he
often passed its back gate. On the one hand there he was, riding past in a carriage, a
figure of luxury. On the other hand, there was Kanzan, tending radishes or carrying a
shoulder-pole weighted into a crook. Seeing that figure from within his carriage, Musō
himself said that his Buddha- Dharma would be replaced by Kanzan's. 72

A century after Daitō's era, Zen master Ikkyū railed against the corruption he saw at the top of
the Zen establishment. Paradoxically, Ikkyū sought to demonstrate his authentic
unworldliness by immersing himself in worldly activities normally shunned by Zen monks.
Appointed to the abbacy of a Daitokuji subtemple, he resigned in less than a fortnight, with
the following envoi:

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Only ten fussy days as an abbot, And already my feet are tangled in red tape. If,
someday, you want to look me up, Try the fish-shop, the tavern, or the brothel. 73

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 Conclusion

Our investigation has revealed the breadth and complexity of the discourse about authenticity
in early Japanese Zen. The repercussions of this issue affected nearly every facet of the
religious life, from the way a monk meditated to the way a meditation hall was built. Given
the array of features considered essential and the variation within them, it is not surprising
that individual conceptions of authenticity flourished. Though the notion of tradition is prone
to reification, at any given moment a living tradition is undergoing change. Cultural
transmission brings a tradition's mutability and diversity into greater relief. Indeed, some of
the Japanese masters' most forcefully argued positions can be seen as deliberate attempts to
shift or expand the prevailing conceptions of "Zen."

All tenets about orthodoxy or authenticity become unstable in Zen, because on some level
they are dualistic: authenticity must stand against inauthenticity, orthodoxy is defined in
opposition to heterodoxy. The masters believed that such dualities had to be denied (or denied
and affirmed simultaneously). Even Dōgen, who so strongly emphasized true Dharma
transmission, cautioned against either/or formulations of the matter. For example, he radically
reinterpreted the traditional account of Bodhidharma's transmission to his four disciples. In
the accepted Chinese version of the event, the first monk attained Bodhidharma "in his skin"
and the last, Hui-k'o, attained Bodhidharma "in his marrow." Hui-k'o became the Second
Patriarch, the others did not. But Dōgen rejected the assumption that the best answer
invalidated the other responses. Collapsing the distinction between proximity and distance, he
argued that all four students ultimately received the Patriarch's "body-mind" : "Even the 'in
my skin' must be a transmission of the Dharma. The Patriarch's body-mind is the Patriarch—
his skin-flesh-bones-marrow. It is not the case that the marrow is intimate and the skin
distant." 74

This same principle can be applied to the search for the essentials of Zen in medieval Japan.
Though certain stances eventually gained acceptance and others came to be branded as
"outside the Way," they functioned as interlocking pieces of the same mosaic. In that sense at
least, the masters' various positions were equivalent and mutually dependent, whatever
differences there may have been. 75 Given these

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complexities, the discourse about authenticity may at times appear to deconstruct itself. With
nothing substantial to put one's finger on, one might surmise that ultimately there are no
criteria of authentic Zen or that authenticity in Zen is somehow tied to the absence of
unvarying criteria. Yet the writings and the actions of the early Japanese masters do not
support this line of reasoning. However subtle the indications, however prone to
deconstruction the discourse, the pioneers were confident of their ability to identify the
essentials of genuine Zen.

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8
Daitō'S ZEN: THE
PRIMACY OF AWAKENING

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When we attempt to describe the teachings of a Zen master, we may be unable to detect a
unified system of thought, a dominant theme, or even a prevalent phrase. Most Zen masters
are not philosophers (in the usual sense, at least), and their works are not conventionally
philosophical. What we do find may seem insubstantial at first: a preference for a particular
type of practice, an exceptional ability to train disciples, a determination to introduce Zen to a
new audience, or a heightened aesthetic awareness. In Zen, the fundamental consistency of
Dharma transmission is assumed, and the tradition discusses the distinctive features of a
master or a lineage in terms of style (kafō). The clue to a particular style may emerge only
after considerable exposure, personal or textual, to a master's teachings. There are occasional
exceptions—masters who do embrace a conspicuous theme or compose texts that might be
called philosophical—but Daitō is not among them.

In response to the ongoing debate about the essentials of Zen, Daitō worked out his position
regarding most of the salient points. He made little attempt to articulate the links between the
various elements; it was taken for granted that underlying integration was provided by
enlightenment. The configuration forged by Daitō is historically significant because it came to
represent the classic or orthodox style of Rinzai Zen in Japan. Within Zen, it is believed that
Daitō's style triumphed because of its inherent spiritual vitality, more specifically the depth
and force of his enlightenment. Historians (including those who give credence to the religious
impact of Daitō's teachings) are compelled to add that Daitō's Zen also fulfilled polemical
functions during the master's

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lifetime and for centuries afterward. Because the dialogical matrix of early Japanese Zen
shaped the Zen of each individual master, the rubric developed in the preceding two chapters
will provide an initial framework for our exploration of Daitō's teachings.

Enlightenment

The essence of Daitō's Zen is succinctly conveyed in a scroll, preserved over the centuries,
that he wrote himself:

Once you suddenly smash through, and go on to make the leap beyond, you will find
that everything around you and all that you do, whether active or at rest, is the scenery
of the fundamental ground, the original Mind. There will be not a hairsbreadth of
difference between you and other things—there will be no other things. 1

In speaking of Daitō's Zen, one must speak of enlightenment before all else, for this is the
"fundamental ground" where Daitō stands, the "original Mind" that he attempts to express in
all his writings. As we have seen, awakening has been the primary criterion of authenticity
throughout the history of Ch'an and Zen, so Daitō's preoccupation with it does not, in itself,
set him apart from other masters. Yet the ways in which Daitō expresses enlightenment are
unusually powerful and evocative, and the Japanese Zen tradition singles him out as a
paradigmatic embodiment of profound self-realization.

One way Daitō stresses the primacy of awakening is by referring frequently to the satori
experiences of the Ch'an/Zen patriarchs. However the circumstances may differ, he asserts,
the awakening is essentially the same:

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 The Second Patriarch Hui-k'o stood in the snow, cut off his arm, and awakened. The
Sixth Patriarch heard someone recite the Diamond Sutra phrase "arouse the mind
without its abiding anywhere," and he awakened. Ling-yün saw a peach blossom and
awakened. Hsiangyen heard a tile fragment strike bamboo, and he awakened. Lin-chi
was given sixty blows by Huang-po, and he awakened. Tung-shan noticed his own
reflection when he was crossing a river, and he awakened. In each case, these men met
the Master. 2

The bellwether of all enlightenment experiences is, of course, Shakyamuni Buddha's. Daitō
chose to inaugurate Daitokuji on the day that this event was commemorated, the eighth day of
the twelfth month. During the ceremony he offered the following verse, based on the tale in
which Shakyamuni awakened in the snowy Himalayas:

One glance at the morning star, and the snow got even whiter. The look in his eye
chills hair and bones.

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If earth itself hadn't experienced this instant, Old Shakyamuni never would have
appeared. 3

This poem celebrates the oneness of Shakyamuni and the universe. Because they achieve
enlightenment together, even the snow becomes whiter at that triumphant moment. Daitō's
intimate (and somewhat irreverent) reference to the Buddha as "Old Shakyamuni" reminds his
listeners that the Buddha's experience is accessible to them as well.

Daitō speaks of enlightenment in several senses. When he recounts the incidents that
precipitated the awakening of the patriarchs, he highlights the sense of "smashing through";
on other occasions he offers lyrical depictions of the enlightened mind itself:

This mind, perfectly and fully realized, moves with a clear, tranquil spiritual
awareness. It encompasses heaven, covers the earth, penetrates form, and rides upon
sound. It is a boundless openness; it is a summit rising with forbidding abruptness.... It
is a radiant light shining from the crown of your head, illuminating wherever you are;
it is an awesome wind, rising up at each step you take, enveloping all things.... If you
are able to make this mind your own, then even though you do not seek excellence
yourself, excellence comes to you of its own accord. Without seeking emancipation,
you are not hindered by a single thing. 4

Portrayals of the enlightened mind inevitably shade into descriptions of universal Mind,
because the two are ultimately one. For Daitō, this Mind is "originally silent and still." 5 It has
neither color nor shape, yet "it fills the world" and its radiance exceeds the brightness of "a
hundred thousand suns and moons." 6 It is unborn, undying, free from the wheel of
transmigration, beyond any aspect of past or future. Even if the universe were destroyed, it
would not be affected. 7 Though Daitō claims that Mind cannot be reached through words or
silence, he cannot refrain from extolling it verbally:

Before the beginningless beginning, prior to the appearance of the first Buddha,
already its bright and radiant light shone forth. It illuminates heaven and stands as a
perfect mirror on earth, embracing and manifesting all things. The sun, moon, stars,

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 and planets, lightning flashes, thunderclaps—everything without exception receives its
benevolent influence. 8

In his repeated references to awakening, Daitō does not favor one particular expression. As
we have noted, the term kenshō, "seeing one's [True-]nature," was widely accepted in
Japanese Zen; its authoritative sources included the Platform Sutra and the classic stanza
attributed to Bodhidharma. Daitō uses the expression freely in the two sermons he wrote in
vernacular Japanese, equating it with the highest level of reali

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zation: "When you actually see your True-nature, you transcend saōsāra and nirvana and
reside in fundamental buddhahood." 9 Or again: "If you desire to meet the real Buddha, you
must see your True-nature. Unless you see your True-nature, even if you recite the Buddha's
name, read sutras, and uphold the precepts, you will just be wasting your time." 10 Although
the term kenshō does not appear in Daitō's formal discourse record, he must have used it
orally in the guidance of his monks. In Takuan's biography of the master, a monk asks, "What
is this 'seeing one's nature and becoming Buddha' ?" Daitō replies, "The snow melts and the
bones of the mountain appear." 11

Daitō delights in using numerous Buddhist synonyms for awakening or True-nature. Though
the names may differ, the referent does not: "It is just the same as when a baby is born—
originally it has no name, and afterwards various names are given to it." 12 In one relatively
brief sermon he uses at least twenty different terms interchangeably: the Way, Buddha-
Dharma, Self-nature, Buddha, Mind, Emptiness, True Body of Emptiness, True Body of
Mind, Original Face, Original Face before your parents' birth, Buddha-body, Dharma-body,
Master, Original Master, Buddha-nature, True Buddha, Buddha Way, One Mind, Mind-
Buddha, and "the place that cannot be known." 13 Elsewhere, in light verse, Daitō reiterates his
lack of attachment to any of these expressions:

"Delusion," "enlightenment"— just fox-words fooling Zen monks everywhere. 14

Daitō underscores the primacy of enlightenment in his "Final Admonitions." In many Rinzai
monasteries this text is still chanted by the monks before they go to bed, night after night, and
it has engendered a sense of intimacy with Daitō among countless generations of Zen
practitioners. The "Admonitions" are actually a combination of two short passages found in
Takuan's biography of Daitō; 15 the second portion states:

After I have moved on, some of my followers may preside over splendid temples
bustling with many monks, where the Buddhist gates and sutra scrolls are inlaid with
gold and silver. Other followers may chant sutras, recite dharanis, and sit in
meditation for long periods without lying down. They may eat their single meals
before noon and worship Buddha at the six appointed hours of the day.

In any case, if the untransmittable wondrous Way of the buddhas and patriarchs is not
in their hearts, their karmic connection with their predecessors will be lost, the true
wind of Zen will sink into the earth, and they will join the tribe of malignant spirits.
After I have left the world, they must never be considered my descendants.

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 However, if there is one person who leads an upright life in the open fields, dwelling
in a simple thatched hut, eating vegetable roots boiled in a broken-legged pot, and
devoting his time to single-minded investigation of himself, then this person will meet
me face-to-face each day and requite his spiritual obligations. Is there anyone who can
afford to be negligent? Press on, press on! 16

Again Daitō makes it clear that awakening takes precedence over all other aspects of the
religious life and that these other aspects are meaningless unless one actualizes "the
untransmittable wondrous Way of the buddhas and patriarchs." Zen followers who lack
enlightenment not only will suffer personally; they will also imperil the transmission of the
Dharma. Conversely, anyone who is practicing sincerely, in accord with the spirit of
awakening, is the master's true descendant and companion.

When Daitō speaks from the ultimate standpoint, he insists that enlightenment is the sole
criterion of authentic Zen, and he accords little significance to other elements such as zazen or
monastery construction. When he speaks from the conventional standpoint, however, he
embraces additional factors as essential features of Zen; without them he would be unable to
administer a temple or instruct a disciple. The primacy of enlightenment notwithstanding, it is
possible to identify salient dimensions of Daitō's thought in his approach to the other
essentials of Zen.

Zazen

The centrality of zazen was not questioned by Daitō. The monastic routine at Daitokuji
included several sessions of meditation each day, and lay followers were similarly urged to
"devote themselves exclusively to zazen at the beginning" of practice. 17 Daitō's definition of
Zen meditation was succinct: "Zazen means to sit in the full- or half-lotus posture, open the
eyes halfway, and see the Original Face before your parents' birth." 18 He used a number of
traditional metaphors to describe the process further:

"Sweep away thoughts!" means one must do zazen. Once thoughts are quieted, the
Original Face appears. Thoughts can be compared to clouds—when clouds vanish, the
moon appears. The moon of suchness is the Original Face. Thoughts are also like the
fogging of a mirror—when you wipe away all condensation, a mirror reflects clearly.
Quiet your thoughts and behold your Original Face before you were born! 19

Daitō sometimes uses the term kufō in place of "zazen" to denote the sustained exertion of
Zen meditation. Two phrases from his "Final Admonitions" can also be regarded as roughly
synonymous with zaze.

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"Coming or going, day or night, you must just strive to face the incomprehensible" 20 Daitō
exhorts his monks in that text. Facing the incomprehensible (murie no tokoro ni mukatte) is
the fundamental task of zazen, a probing attitude that practitioners are supposed to maintain
throughout all activities. The "Admonitions" also commend "single-minded investigation of
oneself" (koji o kyōmei-su), 21 another description of the zazen mind-state. A person devoted
to this intense self-inquiry will meet his master "face-to-face" each day, Daitō asserts. Though
he does not elaborate on the two expressions or use them elsewhere in his writings, they

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entered the vocabulary of Japanese Zen and were cited by twentieth- century Japanese
philosophers such as Nishida Kitarō ( 1870-1945) and Nishitani Keiji ( 1900-1990).

Daitō identifies several mistaken approaches to Zen meditation. For example, the cessation of
thought is not a goal of proper zazen: "Your notion that thoughts arise leads to a notion that
you must prevent them from arising. These conflicting ideas are both wrong." 22 Daitō alludes
to Ta-hui when he asserts that a "no-thought samādhi" is an "outside path" and "false Zen." 23
Rather, one should "look well at the source beyond mental activity." 24 Another erroneous
approach is to practice zazen in the hope that enlightenment will arrive sooner or later: "The
Way transcends any aspect of going or coming, movement or quiescence, so one cannot
realize satori by waiting for it." 25 Nor should zazen be seen as a precondition for awakening.
"You may conclude that without doing zazen you will never see your True-nature, but that
would be a mistake," Daitō cautions. 26

In the same spirit, Daitō rejects conceptions of zazen that limit it to the immobile sitting
posture: "Great Master Yung-chia said, 'Walking is Zen, and sitting is Zen. Whether one
speaks, remains silent, moves, or rests, the body is at peace.' He meant that walking, sitting, or
talking are all Zen." 27 True zazen can be carried on as one goes about one's daily business:
"That which is called the Original Face is present in active and quiet places alike." 28 In a
verse entitled "Zazen" Daitō suggests that zazen-in-activity surpasses quiet sitting:

How boring to sit idly on the floor, not meditating, not breaking through.

Look at the horses racing along the Kamo River!

That's zazen! 29

Daitō tolerated Buddhist practices other than zazen in certain contexts. For example, he
sanctioned a variety of devotional practices as expedient means for those of "shallow roots."
People who help to build a temple or erect a Buddha figure thereby gain religious merit,
strengthen their karmic links with the Way, and eventually "arrive at

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the real temple and see the real Buddha." 30 In the "Admonitions" he lists several practices
ordinarily considered meritorious, such as chanting and regular worship of the Buddha, but
then he rejects these activities as futile unless they reflect a genuine aspiration for
enlightenment.

Daitō's understanding of meditation does not deviate in any significant way from mainstream
Ch'an/Zen. What distinguishes his approach to practice is his intense involvement in koans. A
koan is even embedded in his definition of zazen, cited above: "Zazen means to sit in the full-
or half-lotus posture, open the eyes halfway, and see the Original Face before your parents'
birth." Daitō was apparently attracted to koans as a young monk. He questioned his first
teacher, Kōhō Kennichi, about the koan "An Ox Passes Through the Window," and he
supposedly solved "nearly two hundred koans" in one year as a student of Nanpo. He was
struggling with the koan "Barrier" when he came to deep enlightenment. Koans accordingly
suffuse Daitō's lectures and dialogues during his fifteen years as abbot of Daitokuji. In the
Record of Daitō the master may quote a classic koan for his listeners and then comment on it
himself; more often a monk will cite a koan and publicly question the master about it line by

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line. In other works Daitō comments on the hundred koans of the Blue Cliff Record, annotates
his own collection of one hundred twenty koans, and responds to assorted koans from
additional sources.

Tradition also credits Daitō with the creation of an original koan:

In the morning our eyebrows intertwine; in the evening we rub shoulders. What am I?
The pillar moves back and forth all day long. Why am I immobile? Those who
penetrate these two turning words will have completed one lifetime of Zen training. 31

In Zen, a "turning word" is a word or phrase that has the capacity to transform a person's
awareness or even to precipitate enlightenment itself. This conundrum, known as Daitō's
"three turning words" (santengo), was transmitted orally for nearly a century before being
recorded by Shunsaku in 1426. Nonetheless, it is one of the first Chinese-style koans created
by a Japanese master. Though Daitō may have used it only in private sessions with disciples,
he alluded to it in his discourse record:

I have three crucial koans. If you get the first, I allow you to lift the sun and the moon
over the tip of my staff. If you get the second, you may do a headstand on the tip of
my whisk. If you get the third, I'll ask you whether the wheat in front of the mountain
has ripened or not. 32

Today Daitō's santengo is considered an advanced koan, assigned only to monks with ten or
more years of experience. For each of the three parts,

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which are taken up separately, the practitioner must first give his own response and then offer
a suitable capping phrase. Although Daitō added at least one original koan to those he
inherited, he believed that a person who thoroughly penetrates even a single koan has
fathomed them all: "We say that there are 1,700 koans and 17,000 kernels of koans, but they
are all meant to reveal the Original Face." 33

Emblems of Dharma Transmission

For Daitō the principle of Dharma transmission was corroborated by personal experience.
Once he resolved Yün-men's koan "Barrier," he felt that he too was nourished by the "life-
artery of the heroic patriarchs." 34 One of the earliest texts in Daitō's hand is his transcription
of the Transmission of the Lamp, which traces Zen's spiritual lineage from Shakyamuni and
his Indian successors through the Ch'an patriarchs and their Chinese heirs. Daitō returned to
this theme throughout his teaching career; the year before his death he told his monks: "It has
come down to the present day but still it flows broad and unbroken. Truly, our school is deep
at its source, long and vast in its flow. Therefore it has been said that 'it will never diminish
for a million ages; it is clear and unmistakable right before your eyes.' " 35

Kokai's biography identifies fourteen followers of Daitō who "personally received his seal and
inherited his Dharma." 36 When Daitō's own teacher Nanpo added words of praise and advice
to Daitō's two enlightenment poems, he had in effect created a seal of enlightenment, and

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Daitō ceremoniously passed this document on to Tettō Gikō, his successor at Daitokuji. He
also gave Tettō his personal robe and a document that declared:

My senior monk [Gi]kō has followed me faithfully for a long time. The thoroughness
of his enlightenment is something that everyone already knows. He is to succeed me as
resident abbot of Daitokuji and to teach the assembled monks with compassion. In
addition, I give him the Dharma robe that I have always used. My thoughts for him are
filled with deep gratitude. 37

Kanzan, Daitō's other principal heir, did not receive a comparable document. However, when
Kanzan resolved the koan "Barrier," Daitō recognized his disciple's enlightenment by giving
him a new name and a scroll to prove it. On an occasion of this significance, Daitō
characteristically composed a verse:

Kanzan

Where the road is blocked and utterly impassable, cold clouds in a timeless belt
encircle green peaks.

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Though Yün-men's one word conceals its vital working, the true eye discerns it,
beyond the farthest summits.

I bestow the religious name "Kanzan" on the temple clerk Egen. Written in the third
month of the fourth year of Karyaku [ 1329 ], by Shōhō Myōchō of the Dragon Peak
Mountain [Daitokuji]. 38

Daitō bequeathed Nanpo's robe to the monks of Daitokuji and instructed them as follows:

Take the purple Dharma robe that was transmitted to me by the National Master
[ Nanpo ] and place it in a memorial chamber. Take it out and use it only once each
year, on the day [of my death] when the members of the congregation gather at the
temple. This directive must never be disobeyed. 39

In other inscriptions Daitō validated the enlightenment of disciples who may not have been
sanctioned as Dharma heirs. For example, he responded in writing to a request from an elder
nun named Chishō, asserting, "She has realized the Way where birth and death are one." 40 He
also used formal portraits of himself as insignia of transmission, though the original recipients
are not always indicated. Six portraits of Daitō are extant, four of them bearing inscriptions by
the master.

Clearly Daitō accepted emblems of Dharma transmission as an essential feature of genuine

Zen. Besides valuing the robe and written sanction he received from Nanpo, he granted
certificates, inscriptions, robes, and portraits to his own followers. He did not, however, exalt
these emblems in his writings (as Dōgen did) or distribute them profusely (as Hsü-t'ang did).
Over the centuries Daitō's descendants were inspired and reassured by these original insignia,
which they treasured as proof of the authenticity of their lineage and their Zen.

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 Monastery Construction and the Monastic Rule

Since about the age of ten, when he was first sent to a Buddhist temple, Daitō led a monastic
life. He was formally ordained as a Zen monk when he was about twenty-two, and he trained
in several of the most important Zen monasteries of his era. Daitō was the first Japanese monk
to establish a major Rinzai monastery without having been exposed to Chinese monasticism.
He served for fifteen years as abbot— cultivating patrons, supervising temple construction,
and training the resident monks. In Japanese Zen a monastery founder is given the honorific
title kaisan, one who has "opened the mountain."

Though Daitō greatly valued a place to train Zen monks in the traditional manner, in his
writings he does not discuss the construction of monasteries or the relative importance of
various buildings. Daitokuji's records are similarly silent regarding the initial construction of
the tem

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ple. Whereas other lineages take pride in the history of their monks' halls, the earliest
reference to this building in the Daitokuji archives is vague and undated: "Initially it was built
to the west of the Buddha hall." 41 Contemporary scholar Yanagida Seizan sees significance in
Daitō's choice of a Dharma hall over a Buddha hall as Daitokuji's first major building.
Because Dharma halls were originally given precedence in Ch'an monasteries, Yanagida
speculates that Daitō was aiming to recapture the spirit of early T'ang dynasty Ch'an, "an
unbridled, ambitious aspiration." 42 More mundane considerations, such as limited funds, may
also have affected the choice of buildings.Whereas many of his predecessors and peers
composed extensive monastic codes, Daitō left only one terse list of regulations. It probably
served as a supplement to the standard codes then available:
1. Contact with guest monks is not permitted.
2. The times for the three daily services and the bell and drum signals cannot be changed.
3. Monks in administrative positions must not be selfish when handling accounts for food and
the like.
4. During periods of temple construction, any details involving lumber, nails, and so on are
one's own responsibility; do not burden other people with such matters.
5. If monks in official positions violate the rules, I will turn my back on them forever. A
novice who breaks the rules is not allowed to read sutras in the Buddha hall for a day.
Those who violate these regulations will be expelled immediately.
6. For young and old alike, there must be no idle conversation.
7. Novices, postulants, and young trainees must stop misbehaving when they are not
attending the three daily services; instead they should devote themselves to study. Those
who violate these rules will be struck five times with a stick and denied meals for a day.
8. Those who do not memorize the sutras and dharanis used in the three daily services are to
be deprived of their robe and bowl and expelled.
9. In the kitchen-headquarters (kuri), senior monks Sōrin and Sōtetsu are in charge of rice,
money, meals, salt, and miso. In the Buddha hall and the abbot's quarters, senior monks
Sōren and Sōju are responsible for the three daily services and cleaning. Senior monk
Sōnin is responsible for cleaning the latrine. Novice Sōgen should accompany and assist
the senior monks working in the Buddha hall, kitchen-headquarters, latrine, and elsewhere.
When novices or postulants misbehave, disciplining them is the duty of senior monk Sōrin.
10.Novices, postulants, and young trainees should not loiter in the kitchen-headquarters.

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 Those who break this rule will be struck five times with a stick and denied meals for a day.

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These regulations accord with the intentions of buddhas and patriarchs. Keep an eye
on your companions, and do not hesitate to report offenders. These are the established
rules. 43

Daitō's use of personal names in this code suggests that he was not addressing a large
monastic community; he may have compiled these rules at an early stage of Daitokuji's
development. The recurrent references to punishment are consistent with the master's
reputation as a strict disciplinarian. The modest scope of this original code compelled Daitō's
successor, Tettō, to fill the breach: around 1368 Tettō composed three sets of regulations, one
for Daitokuji and two for Daitokuji subtemples.

The relative validity of monastic and lay practice was variously interpreted by Daitō's
predecessors and peers, as we have seen. Though it is sometimes difficult to ascertain the
audience being addressed, Daitō appears to have taken a broad-minded approach to this issue.
Whereas his teacher Nanpo had extolled the virtues of monkhood in his "Final Admonitions"
and other texts, Daitō often reproached those who were monks in name only. In the following
passage he claims Bodhidharma as his authority:

Great Master Bodhidharma was asked, "What is the essence of leaving home to
become a monk (shukke)?" He answered, "Don't think that leaving home is just cutting
your hair, shaving your beard, and wearing a monk's robe. Someone who shaves his
hair, puts on a robe, and dons a kesa has not really become a monk unless he has
awakened. Until then, he does not differ from an ordinary householder." 44

Daitō welcomed lay people and nuns as students, and he seems to have demanded of them
what he demanded of his monks—a strong aspiration for self-realization. A woman named
Sōin, Daitō's disciple and patron, was influential in the early construction of Daitokuji. Daitō
wrote a sermon in vernacular Japanese for the consort of an emperor and composed a similar
tract for an unnamed layman. Among his extant calligraphic works, three are addressed to
nuns, two to lay men, and one to a lay woman. In these texts he warns his lay followers not to
cling to status or wealth: "Shakyamuni abandoned his kingly rank; Layman P'ang sank his
precious jewels in the ocean." 45 Nor should responsibility for parents or children be an
obstacle to practice. Rather, a true practitioner must actualize the Way whatever his or her
circumstances may be: "Wearing clothes, eating meals, walking, standing, sitting, or lying
down" are not separate from the "true body of emptiness." 46 Asked if householders can
achieve spiritual liberation without conquering "lust," Daitō replies, "With kenshō, lust
becomes void and ceases of its own accord." 47

Daitō may or may not have valued monastery construction as an

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essential feature of Zen: he exerted himself to build a new monastery, yet he does not address
the topic in his writings. Similarly, his views on the monastic rule remain indistinct: though
devoted to the training of his monks, he left the barest of monastic codes, and he encouraged
lay practitioners. While Daitō's admirers glorified Daitokuji's "lofty towers and imposing

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gates" or exalted its "thousand monks living in peace," 48 the master sought to point beyond
the external forms of institutional Zen. During the ceremonial inauguration of Daitokuji, he
brandished his monk's shawl and asked, "As I reverently don this kesa, who can discern its
true color?" 49

Withdrawal from the World

Daitō embraced the theme of withdrawal in prose, in verse, and in practice. Even after he had
assumed the abbacy of Daitokuji he wrote of himself:

So many years of begging,

this robe's old and torn;
tattered sleeve chases a cloud.
Beyond the gate, just grass. 50

Unworldliness meant establishing one's distance not only from society but also from the Zen
institution itself. Accordingly, Daitō defines a "true temple" as the purification of one's own
body-mind and a true Buddha image as the realization of inherent Buddha-nature. 51 His most
famous statement in support of this ideal is again found in his "Admonitions," where he
explicitly contrasts an abbot of a flourishing temple with a recluse living in poverty. His true
spiritual heir is the person "dwelling in a simple thatched hut," not the abbot whose "sutra
scrolls are inlaid with gold and silver." 52

Zen lore magnifies Daitō's unworldly reputation, depicting him as a beggar who found shelter
under Kyoto's Gojō Bridge during twenty years of self-imposed deprivation. Ikkyū and
Hakuin were especially attracted to this image, and their portrayals of Daitō as an outsider
strongly influenced later generations. Though the beggar story is undoubtedly exaggerated, it
contains a kernel of truth—after his enlightenment Daitō did withdraw to an obscure temple
near the Gojō Bridge, remaining there for at least a decade.

The worldly dimensions of Daitō's life are more easily documented, because most of his
career took place within Zen's institutional mainstream. He came to enlightenment in a major
metropolitan monastery, accepted patronage from two emperors for nearly twenty years, and
became founder-abbot of Daitokuji. His faithful observance of the annual monastic calendar is
confirmed by the dated entries in the Recordof Daitō

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of Daitō—for example, he gave formal talks on the ninth day of the ninth month for seven
years. In theory at least, a monk could fulfill his social and institutional responsibilities while
remaining free of ambition and attachment. Just as zazen amidst activity was esteemed, this
detached involvement was in some ways a higher ideal than simple withdrawal. Indeed, Daitō
is revered in the Rinzai sect as a deeply enlightened monk who mastered the Zen institution
without sacrificing his spiritual strength. If that assessment is accepted, the beggar image also
symbolizes an inward orientation that historical facts alone cannot reveal.

Several of Daitō's contemporaries and near contemporaries offer revealing comparisons in

this context. Musō rose to the pinnacle of the Zen world, served as an advisor to shoguns, and
gained recognition in literary circles. Yet within Zen his stature as a master is somewhat

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diminished: posterity concluded that his worldly successes were won at some cost to his inner
life. A contrast of a different sort is Shinchi Kakushin, whose depth of insight was widely
acknowledged but who eschewed influential posts and had little impact on Zen's institutional
development. Similar issues were highlighted a century and a half later in the bitter rivalry
between Ikkyū Sōjun and Yōsō Sōi. Yōsō, a prominent abbot of Daitokuji, was vilified as
corrupt by Ikkyū, who attempted to avoid all positions of authority. Whereas Daitō became an
exemplar of the successful integration of the individual and the institution, these later figures
symbolize less rounded stances, leading to deviance or degeneration.

Daitō as Teacher

As the leader of an expanding monastic community, Daitō interacted regularly with his
students. He gave Dharma talks to the assembled monks, engaged members of the audience in
public dialogue, met privately with individual disciples, and corresponded with several
followers concerning their Zen practice. His monastic regulations confirm his strictness as an
abbot and bespeak his intimacy with the senior monks, to whom he refers by name.
Throughout the years that Daitō spent establishing a temple, running it, and arranging for an
orderly succession, he remained singleminded in his advocacy of awakening. Most Zen
masters of Daitō's stature are associated with one or more telling anecdotes—factual or
legendary—that epitomize their Zen teaching style. Tan-hsia burns a wooden Buddha to warm
himself, Chü-ti cuts off his attendant's finger, Eisai gives a starving man the halo from a
Buddha figure, Ikkyū parades a skull on a pole through the streets of Kyoto, and so on. In
Daitō's case, the vignettes most often recalled are the bright-eyed beggar under the Gojō
Bridge, the self-possessed teacher conversing with two emperors, and the indomitable master
who

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breaks his own leg to die in the full-lotus posture. For further hints about Daitō's deportment
as a Zen teacher, we may turn to several documents that have been preserved by his
descendants. 53

By his own account, Daitō confronted his disciples in the manner of a formidable adversary.
In the inscription on one of his portraits, he describes himself as follows:

His eyes glare angrily. His mouth turns down in scowling wrath. He is an enemy of
buddhas and patriarchs, an arch-enemy of Zen monks. If you face him, he delivers a
blow. If you turn from him, he emits an angry roar. Bah! Who can tell whether the
blind old monk painted here is host or guest? But never mind that, Inzen. Just bow to
the floor before your mind begins to turn. 54

Powerful as this language may be, it is also traditional, reflecting the assumed link between
severity and authenticity in Ch'an/Zen. If Daitō wished to be seen in this light, his
contemporaries and successors readily complied. Soon after his death, Emperor Go-Daigo
extolled the master in similar terms. In an inscription on another Daitō portrait (figure 4), the
Emperor wrote:

Swifter than a flash of lightning, he brandishes his stick as he pleases. Faster than ever
before, he forges buddhas and patriarchs on his anvil. When he deals with his monks,

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 there is no place for them to seize hold. He was a teacher to two emperors, yet never
once revealed his face to them. His severe and awe-inspiring manner made it
impossible for anyone to approach him. A single point of spiritual radiance—who
presumes to see it? 55

Another extant document preserves a brief written exchange between Daitō and Emperor
Hanazono. On this scroll, half of an undated pair, the master challenges his patron-disciple:
"We have been separated for thousands of eons, yet we have not been separated for even an
instant. We are facing each other all day long, yet we have never met. This truth is found in
each person. I now humbly request a word from you: What is the nature of this truth?" The
Emperor wrote his reply on the same scroll: "Last night, during the third watch, the temple
pillar told you all there is to know." 56 This text, a rare and verifiable artifact of Daitō's Zen
teaching, fails to supply its own setting. Were the two men together when they composed the
scroll, or was it conveyed between them by messenger? Might Hanazono's reference to "last
night" indicate that he had already been tested (and passed) by Daitō in a previous encounter?
Even out of context, Daitō's provocative question has endured, and modern Japanese
philosophers still cite it in discussions of the "dialectical relation" between the present and
eternity. 57

Hanazono's diary indicates that Daitō guided the former emperor

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through advanced koan practice, using the Gateless Barrier, the Blue Cliff Record, and other
texts. The two men discussed Zen teachings, meditated together, and went to visit other Zen
monks. After Hanazono passed a certain koan, his teacher praised his "profound"
understanding of the Way. 58 Though the diary does not include descriptions of confidential
sessions, Daitō's biographer Takuan reports (or imagines) a number of encounter dialogues
between the master and his royal disciple. In one, Daitō responds in a classic Zen manner, and
Hanazono delivers two Zen shouts:

Retired emperor Hanazono said to the Master [ Daitō ], "I won't ask about the
chrysanthemums blooming under the fence, but how about the fall foliage in the
forest?" The Master said, "Thousand-eyed Kannon does not see through it." The
Emperor gave a shout and said, "Gone where?" The Master bowed respectfully and
replied, "Please consider the heavenly mirror, hanging down from on high." The
Emperor said, "You must not go through the night, but you must arrive by dawn." The
Master indicated his assent. The Emperor gave a shout, swung his sleeve, and left. 59

Whatever Takuan's sources, he was doing his best to convey a sense of Daitō's forceful
teaching style to readers of the Chronicle.

In some of Daitō's own correspondence he assigns koans and gives instructions about koan
practice; these materials shed further light on his comportment as a teacher. In the following
letter, for example, his tone is characteristically energetic and persistent:

If you wish to bring the two matters of birth and death to conclusion, and pass directly
beyond the Triple-world, you must penetrate the koan "This very mind is Buddha."
Tell me: What is its principle? How is it that this very mind is Buddha? And "this very
mind"—just what is it like? Investigate it coming. Investigate it going. Investigate it

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 thoroughly and exhaustively. . . . All you have to do is keep this koan constantly in
your thoughts. 60

Daitō refers to another koan on an extant scroll that bears the single character mu and the
following information in smaller script:

Zen-man Ryō responded, "One slab of iron stretching ten thousand miles." I said,
"What is this one slab of iron?" He said nothing.

Written by Shōhō, in response to the Zen-man's request. 61

Mu (literally, "no") is the kernel of the well-known koan in which a monk asks master Chao-
chou whether a dog has Buddha-nature. This scroll apparently records a mondō about mu
between Daitō and a student known only as Ryō. The student's answer to the koan is a
capping phrase, one that Daitō favored in his written commentaries. Rather

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than attempting to explain mu in discursive language (perhaps as emptiness or Buddha-

nature), Ryō offers a metaphoric image of something infinite, indestructible, seamless, and
essentially beyond imagination or discrimination—"one slab of iron stretching ten thousand
miles." When pressed further by Daitō, the student remains silent. Though silence often
indicates an inability to answer, in some contexts it can also be a correct Zen reply, depending
on the respondent's demeanor and other clues. Since Daitō agreed to record the exchange, it is
likely that he endorsed Ryō's nonverbal answer and the spiritual insight it represented. Cryptic
as this record may be, it depicts Daitō testing a student on a classic Chinese koan and
accepting a capping phrase as an apt response. In addition, the scroll itself suggests how
readily Daitō (and other Zen monks) rendered a spiritual experience as an aesthetic one,
through calligraphy.

Inevitably, essential elements of Daitō's teaching style remain obscure. For example, it is not
known whether private encounters with him were required or optional, scheduled or
spontaneous, lengthy or abrupt. Such questions multiply in regard to koan practice. Did Daitō
rely on either of the two major koan collections, or did he prefer to select koans from other
sources, including oral ones? Did he assign koans in some order or permit students to exercise
their own discretion? Did he allow students to work on numerous koans before a kenshō
experience, or did he initially limit them to one of the "breakthrough" koans, such as "Mu"?
Many aspects of the master-disciple relationship were strictly confidential, so there are limits
to what can be known. Zen followers claim that a master's teaching methods defy
categorization anyway. According to Daitō's colleague Musō,

Clear-eyed Zen masters do not equip themselves with a stock of invariable doctrines.
They simply seize upon a teaching in response to the moment, giving their tongues
free rein. Zen masters do not hole up in any fixed position. When people ask about
Zen, the master may answer with the words of Confucius, Mencius, Lao-tzu, or
Chuang-tzu. Or he may expound the teachings of the doctrinal schools. On other
occasions he will answer with popular proverbs, or draw attention to something close
at hand. Then again, he may use his stick, shout loudly, raise a finger, or wave a fist.
These are the methods of Zen masters, the unfettered vitality of Zen. Those who have
not yet reached this realm cannot fathom it through the senses and intellect alone. 62

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 -129-

9
CAPPING-PHRASE
COMMENTARY IN THE
WORKS OF Daitō

When Daitō became enamored of capping phrases, he joined a long line of distinguished
Ch'an predecessors. Ch'an master Ycün-men Wenyen (d. 949), one of Daitcö's models, may
have been the first master to answer classic koans with capping phrases, inaugurating an
activity that has remained a vital part of Ch'an and Zen training for ten centuries. Capping
phrases are scattered throughout the two oldest "histories" of Ch'an: A Collection from the
Halls of the Patriarchs (Tsu-t'ang chi, compiled in 952), and the Transmission of the Lamp
(Ching-te ch'uan-teng lu, published in 1011). Another important text in the genre's early
development is the discourse record of Fen-yang Shan-chao ( 947-1024), who systematically
added capping phrases to one hundred classic koans and one hundred original koans. For
example, he wrote, "I vow to attain supreme enlightenment," and then asked rhetorically,
"How is it attained?" His answer was a capping phrase: "The Son of Heaven does not cut
grass." 1

The appearance of koan collections in the eleventh and twelfth centuries notably enhanced the
scope and stature of capping phrases. Yc üan wu K'o-ch'in , compiler of the influential Blue
Cliff Record, gave the genre its classic configuration. As noted previously, this complex work
includes several levels of commentary. Hscüeh-tou, the first compiler, composed interlinear
capping phrases for fifteen of the hundred koans he selected. About sixty years later, Yüan-
wu added a considerable amount of new material, including interlinear capping phrases for all
hundred koans and for Hsüfieh-tou's verses. Never before had one mas

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ter so ambitiously attempted to cap an entire text. For example, the ninth koan of the Blue
Cliff Record is based on a single exchange:

A monk asked Chao-chou, "What is Chao-chou?"

Chao-chou replied, "The east gate, the west gate, the south gate, the north gate."

Yüan-wu augmented this brief text with a series of provocative capping phrases, as follows:

A monk asked Chao-chou, "What is Chao-chou?"

North of the river, south of the river. No one can say. There are thorns in the soft mud.
If it's not south of the river, then it's north of the river.

Chao-chou replied, "The east gate, the west gate, the south gate, the north gate."

They're open. When we're reviling each other, I let you lock lips with me. When we're
spitting at each other, I let you spew me with slobber. It's a ready-made koan, but do
you see? I strike!2

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Yüan-wu's exuberant and colloquial style (however inscrutable it may appear initially)
represents a peak in the literature of Ch'an. Within a century after Yüan-wu's death the
capping-phrase exercise was transmitted to Japan. Practitioners began using traditional and
spontaneous capping phrases to answer koans. 3 One of the earliest works written in Japan to
include capping phrases is a commentary by Lan-ch'i Tao-lung on the Heart Sutra. The
transitional nature of this work can be seen in its unusual mixture of commentarial genres.
The following excerpt consists of Lan-ch'i's gloss on one line of the sutra; his capping phrase
is italicized:

"Form does not differ from emptiness"

Form is originally generated from emptiness. The deluded person sees form as being
outside of true emptiness. Form arises from the mind. [The enlightened person]
comprehends that the mind is originally without the characteristic of form. If you
revert to the senses, you will understand; if you follow their illuminations, you will
not.

Let them have heads of ash and faces of dirt!4

The passage highlights the difference between a doctrinal style of Buddhist exegesis and a
"sutra-free" style of Zen commentary, as represented by the capping phrase. It also suggests
that a combination of the two is problematic (Lan-ch'i may have been constrained by the
limitations of his Japanese audience).

Daitō represents the next highpoint in the genre's development. The spiritual and literary
affinity Daitō felt with his predecessors Hsüeh-tou and Yüan-wu is evident throughout his
discourse record, cappingphrase commentaries, and other works. Besides compiling his own
koan

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collections and commenting on them in the manner of these two masters, Daitō borrowed
more capping phrases from the Blue Cliff Record than from any other source.

Front-side Words and Back-side Words

In Japanese Zen, over a dozen terms are used to designate various types of capping phrases.
Most of these terms originated in Ch'an texts; in the Blue Cliff Record alone the following five
expressions appear:
1.Attached words (Ch. cho-yü Jp. jakugo). The most common term for capping phrases in the
Blue Cliff Record, used for the comments inserted by Hsüeh-tou. Jakugo is also the general
word for capping phrases in contemporary Japanese Zen. Jaku is sometimes equivalent to
chaku, "to arrive, reach," and, by extension, "to attain." Both jaku and chaku are also used
as particles to indicate completed action (perfect tense).
2.Given words (hsia-yü; agyo). Originally an abbreviation for the phrase "to give one turning
word." Agyo was the term preferred by Daitō.
3.One turning word (i-chuan-yü; ittengo). A word or succinct phrase that expresses one's own
realization and/or has the power to turn another's mind toward enlightenment.
4.Different words (pieh-yü; betsugo). A response to a koan that differs from an answer
already given by someone else.

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5.Alternate words (tai-yü; daigo). An answer given on behalf of another person (i.e., when a
monk in a recorded dialogue cannot answer the master's question). 5
Several additional terms have gained currency in Japanese Zen:
6. Playful [words] (nenrō). A traditional phrase or verse that sheds light on a given koan.
Both characters in this expression mean "to twist" or "to play with"; the unstated object is
the words of the ancients.
7. Vernacular words (sego). Phrases and verses that originated in Japan rather than China.
These have been collected in a work entitled Anthology of Zen Phrases in Japanese
(Zenrin segoshō)6
8. Plain words (heigo). Ordinary Japanese expressions, taken from daily life rather than
published anthologies.
9. Preliminary words (zengo). A phrase that presents only one aspect of a koan.
10.Main words (hongo). A phrase that caps a koan in a final or comprehensive manner.

There are also "front-side words" (omote no go), which are used to comment from a
conventional standpoint; "back-side words" (ura no go), which are used to comment from an
absolute standpoint; and "com-

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billed words" (sōgo), which are supposed to express the integration of the ultimate and the
conventional. 7

No single expression in English can be expected to convey the range and complexity of these
terms. Even the single word jakugo has been variously translated into English as capping
phrase, capping words, capping verses, attached comments, and annotation. All the
expressions cited above are Zen technical terms, used only by monks and specialists, whereas
"capping phrase" in English has a wider currency (and may therefore mislead to some
degree). The English word "capping" nonetheless suggests some of the functions of a Zen
jakugo: to cap means "to match, to complete, to surpass," and even (in a 1937 Webster's) "to
surprise, to puzzle, to perplex." 8

Though the capping phrases found throughout Daitō's works potentially afford access to his
Zen style, the genre is notoriously resistant to interpretation. Daitō's discourse record—full of
koans, capping phrases, and encounter dialogues—was so forbidding that only a master like
Hakuin would venture to take its measure. Neither the intended audience nor the specific
application of Daitō's written commentaries has been established with certainty. He may have
composed these texts for himself, revealed them to a select group of disciples, used them
freely in the training of his monks, or addressed them primarily to posterity.

Furthermore, the usual exegetical techniques, even in the hands of knowledgeable

commentators, often seem reductive and unsatisfactory. For example, one of Daitō's better-
known capping phrases, "An octagonal millstone flies through the air," has elicited widely
varying explanations. Distinguished scholar Yanagida Seizan writes: "An octagonal millstone
is a massive millstone turned by a team of eight oxen or horses. It can pulverize all manner of
things. This phrase describes such a huge millstone spinning across the sky, a terrifying
sight." 9 Zen master Shibayama Zenkei's gloss of the same phrase is more abstract: "the free
functioning that arises from satori." 10 And Jon Covell paraphrases the troublesome expression
as a statement about ineffability: "Everyone knows that a meteor rushes across the sky, yet
they cannot explain it in words." 11

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Such explanations, however skillful, restate an utterance in conventional language or familiar
categories, thereby serving to confirm our ordinary understanding of reality. In that way they
tend to subvert Zen language, because the perplexity that explication hastens to eliminate is
just what most Zen language is trying to foster, at least initially. The aim of Zen training is not
to acquire a "correct" picture of the world; it is to shed whatever notions of the world one may
hold. Interpretations that construe the meaning of a Zen passage only in terms of its assumed

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content or message are missing the text's transformative potential and soteriological intent,
which are "not dependent on words." No wonder the resulting exegesis frequently falls flat,
like explanations of jokes.

Further implications of Zen language will be examined in the following chapter, but in the
interim we may identify at least one principle related to interpretation: for most Zen
utterances a single meaning rarely exhausts the possibilities. The multifaceted nature of Zen
language can be seen, for example, in the capping phrase ryōsai issai, which has been used by
Ch'an masters, by Daitō, and by contemporary Rinzai monks. The phrase can mean "two faces
of one die," as in the English expression "two sides of the same coin." 12 In other contexts, it
can also signify "two victories, one game." 13 In the Record of Lin-chi a master uses this
expression to comment on an incident involving three monks. Rendered as "two victories, one
game" and applied to that particular situation, the phrase supports several interpretations: (a)
one of the three players won twice, (b) two of the players won, or even (c) all three players
won in their relations with each other. 14 In Zen language multiple meanings may coexist even
if they seem mutually contradictory.

An Introduction to Daitō's Capping Phrases

The most straightforward way to introduce Daitō's capping-phrase commentaries is to draw

upon certain conventional modes. Once we have considered a sample of Daitō's phrases and
some representative passages, we will be better able to discuss his Zen style and related
interpretive issues. Initially, it is helpful to remove Daitō's capping phrases from their original
context and rearrange them in a more accessible fashion. 15 For example, some of the capping
phrases that Daitō quoted or composed can function as aphorisms:

Under a good general, one is certain to find brave soldiers.

If you hear it incorrectly, you will mistake a bell for a cooking pot.

Other capping phrases favored by Daitō create vivid scenes or capture subtle moods.

Under a peony, a kitten naps.

His mouth is like a bowl of blood.
Walking together on the Ch'ang-an Road, hand-in-hand.
The pine accompanies the sound of the wind.

A common use of the genre is to express admiration or censure. When Daitō is pleased, his
praise is unstinting.

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 Just so, just so.
I am not equal to you!

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When critical, he is especially blunt.

Shame on you!
He doesn't know the smell of his own shit.
Why doesn't he get control of himself and leave?

Inevitably, many of Daitō's comments allude to aspects of Zen practice and the spiritual path,
though they are flexible enough to take on additional meanings in other contexts. A devotee's
initial exposure to Buddhism is considered highly significant.

An opportunity hard to come by.

However ardent the student, early stages of practice may be plagued by doubt and confusion.

Stumbling without knowing it.

Watch your step!

For monks in a monastery, the schedule is relentless and the discipline severe.

The drum beats, the bell rings.

Three thousand blows in the morning, eight hundred blows in the evening.

Obstructions are encountered at every turn, as in Daitō's own struggle with the koan "Barrier."

Iron wall, silver mountain.

No road to advance upon, no gate to retreat through.
The exhausted fish is stuck in shallow water.
The shrimp cannot leap out of the wooden dipper.

Yet those with true aspiration manage to persevere whatever the obstacles.

Though the Chien-ko Road is steep,

travelers are even more numerous at night.

Entering the master's chambers and confronting him face-to-face can be a fearful experience
even for a Zen adept.

A wild tiger sitting right on the path.

What can one do?

Lie flat in the tiger's mouth.

Eventually, after years of searching and questioning, something happens, perhaps

unexpectedly.

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 Losing one's way and running into Bodhidharma.

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At this critical point one must push on until one ignites an inner explosion or attains a state of
unprecedented clarity.

When the clouds disperse, the cave becomes bright.

Now the world takes on an entirely new quality—even the most ordinary things seem
wonderfully alive.

Scoop up water, the moon lies in your hands;

toy with a flower, its fragrance soaks your robe.

As one's understanding continues to deepen, one may enter realms known only by a few.

Where the white clouds are deep, a golden dragon dances.

A close friend understands, but who else understands?

The ancient patriarchs, no longer revered from afar, can be taunted affectionately.

Hsüeh-tou has not yet gotten that far.

Master Shakyamuni's eyeballs pop out.

How can this precious reality be described?

The sky cannot cover it, the earth cannot uphold it.
One slab of iron stretching ten thousand miles.
The blue sky is not blue, the white clouds are not white.

In the end, words fail.

Knead it but it won't form a ball.

A mute eats bitter melons.

And yet it must be passed on, one way or another.

Two stone statues whisper into each other's ears.

Someone who can do this is a practitioner of eloquent Zen, whose language—however

strange—mysteriously hits the mark.

To insert the needle where it hurts.

His tongue has no bones.
A real Zen master!

We may now turn to some passages that reveal Daitō's actual use of capping phrases. The first
passage is just two sentences in its entirety:

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 Huang-po struck Lin-chi sixty times. The sun appears and the moon disappears. 16

The italicized second line is Daitō's capping phrase on the scanty text that precedes it;
together they make up one of the briefest entries in

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Daitō's One Hundred Twenty Cases (Hyakunijussoku). 17 Huang-po and his principal heir,
Lin-chi, were two great Ch'an masters. As a comment, Daitō's phrase does not refer in a
conventional manner to the original text, so one must ruminate a bit to find some connection.
In nature, when does the sun appear and the moon disappear?—at dawn, the shift from
darkness to light, a transformation that is also a natural symbol of enlightenment. So Daitō's
comment may suggest, poetically and non- discursively, that Huang-po's beating of his
disciple Lin-chi precipitated Lin-chi's enlightenment. Of course, Zen tradition offers an
informed interpreter valuable clues: Daitō himself refers elsewhere to sixty blows in
connection with Lin-chi's awakening. What else might be suggested by the capping phrase in
this particular context? The sun may also stand for Lin-chi, the illustrious successor, and the
moon for Huang-po, the teacher who has done his job and can now fade away. One further
implication is that Lin-chi surpassed Huang-po (for a disciple to outdo his master is valued in
Zen).

The well-known koan "Mu" also appears in Daitō's One Hundred Twenty Cases, as follows:

A monk asked Chao-chou, "Does a dog have Buddha-nature or not?"

His tongue is already long.

Chao-chou said, "Mu."

To buy iron and receive gold.

Completely fillsemptiness.
To throw a holeless iron hammer head right at him. 18

By its placement, Daitō's first capping phrase refers to the monk's question—that is, he faults
the "long"-winded monk for posing the problem in such a heady and dualistic manner. Zen
asserts that Chao-chou's answer, which literally means "no," is ineffable truth itself; 19 how
then can Daitō annotate it? The first of his three responses is "To buy iron and receive gold."
Someone who pays for iron but gets gold has certainly made a successful transaction.
Likewise, a monk who asks a poor question but gets an enlightening reply from a master has
gotten more than he bargained for, something as precious as gold. Rather than try to comment
on mu itself, Daitō focuses intially on the interaction between the koan's protagonists.

Daitō's next phrase, "Completely fills emptiness," applies equally to mu and to Chao-chou's
answer. In Zen, emptiness is not nihilism or vacuity: because form and emptiness
interpenetrate, emptiness is completely filled and form is completely emptied. Chao-chou's
powerful answer similarly fills the universe because it is not separate from the universe.
Daitō's last capping phrase is "To throw a holeless iron ham-

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mer head right at him." A holeless hammer head is a contradiction— without a hole, there is
no place to stick the handle. The image is a fitting symbol for truth (or Buddha-nature or mu),
which cannot be grasped using any of our customary handles. Chao-chou has thrown this
ungraspable mu right at the monk, and Daitō does nothing to impede its continuing flight.

Oral Commentary in the Record of Daitō

Daitō's discourse record (goroku), first printed between 1426 and 1467, includes a variety of
material: the master's formal lectures and informal talks, his dialogic encounters with his own
monks, a written capping- phrase commentary, a set of verses in kanbun, and a brief
biography. Traditionally, a discourse record was supposed to be a master's principal work,
though in many instances a master's best-known or most original writings are found in other
sources. Because Daitō's Zen style can be seen throughout his corpus, consideration must be
given to his discourse record, his capping-phrase commentaries, and his poetry.

The Record of Daitō contains two types of capping-phrase commentary: one is (ostensibly)
oral, and the other is written. Throughout the Record, Daitō's monks question him about
specific koans and texts, often line by line. Almost all the master's responses are capping
phrases of one kind or another. If the traditional description of the Record's composition is
given credence, these encounter dialogues were transcribed soon after they occurred. The
master himself may have participated in the composition process at times. Several extant
manuscripts in Daitō's own hand appear as Dharma talks in his discourse record, and it is
possible that he wrote or edited some of the dialogue sections as well.

The following passage from the Record of Daitō depicts Daitō using capping phrases to
respond orally to a series of questions from one of his monks. During the inauguration
ceremony for Daitokuji in the twelfth month of 1326, an unnamed monk cited a well-known
incident that appears as a koan in the Blue Cliff Record. In this story, P'ang Yün—a layman
and an advanced Ch'an practitioner—is leaving a temple after having spent many years there,
and he is escorted to the gate by some less experienced students. It is winter, and snow begins
to fall. The dialogue in the Record of Daitō involves four people— Layman P'ang and a
student named Ch'üan from the original incident, plus the responses of Daitō and the
Daitokuji monk. (For the sake of clarity, "the Master" will be translated as "Daitō.") The
inauguration ceremony is already under way when Daitō begins a new dialogue:

Again Daitō said, "Is there anyone else with a question?" Another monk came forth
and inquired: "I recall that when Lay-

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man P'ang was taking leave of Yao-shan, he pointed to the snow falling from the sky
and said, 'The beautiful snowflakes, one by one, do not fall in different places.' What
did he mean?"

Daitō said, "Something so difficult to grasp surely follows certain laws."

The [Daitokuji] monk continued: "At that time there was a Ch'an student named
Ch'üan who asked P'ang, 'Where do they fall?' P'ang slapped him. How about this?"

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 Daitō said, "An octagonal millstone flies through the air."

The monk said: "The student said, 'Layman, don't be so abrupt!' P'ang responded, 'You
may call yourself a student of Ch'an, but a person of understanding would not tolerate
it.' How should this be understood?"

Daitō said, "My teeth are clenched."

The monk said: "The student Ch'üan said to P'ang, 'What about you?' and P'ang
slapped him again. What was P'ang's intention?"

Daitō said, "Giving generously, holding back little."

The monk said: "The Patriarch Hsü-t'ang said, 'Though there were two slaps, one
expressed praise and one expressed censure, one snatched up and one released.' How
can they be distinguished?"

Daitō said, "It has arrived here and is being put into practice on a grand scale."

The monk said, "You have been teaching us with great compassion. How would you
succinctly express the highest teachings of our school?"

Daitō said, "A thousand snowy peaks, ten thousand caves swept by cold wind."

The monk said, "Master, you are indeed a great teacher of people and gods," and he
bowed.

Daitō said, "I permit you to return to your place." 20

All of Daitō's responses in this passage are capping phrases, verbal jabs that prod the hearer or
reader to probe more deeply. (Daitō's final remark indicates that the dialogue is over.) Each
answer is indirect— not only are common-sense explanations avoided, but subjects, objects,
and other referents are left unnamed. And yet within Zen these answers are also considered to
be incomparably direct, once one sees where they point. Let us take a closer look at each
segment of the passage.

Again Daitō said, "Is there anyone else with a question?"

Another monk came forth and inquired: "I recall that when Layman P'ang was taking
leave of Yao-shan, he pointed to the snow falling from the sky and said, 'The beautiful
snowflakes, one by one, do not fall in different places.' What did he mean?"

Daitō said, "Something so difficult to grasp surely follows certain laws."

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The unusual nature of Layman P'ang's opening remark draws attention to the snow as a
manifestation of Buddha-nature itself. From an ultimate standpoint, there is not even any
"place" for the snow to "fall." In the same spirit, Daitō's first capping phrase indicates that the
snow connotes deeper mysteries—for instance, the path of each flake demonstrates the

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unfathomable intersection of causation and freedom that is also manifest in the path of a
human life. Daitō's comment also applies to P'ang's seemingly inscrutable remark, which
surely has something behind it.

The [Daitokuji] monk continued: "At that time there was a Ch'an student named
Ch'üan who asked P'ang, 'Where do they fall?' P'ang slapped him. How about this?"

Daitō said, "An octagonal millstone flies through the air."

By asking, "Where do they fall?" the student Ch'üan reveals that he is still caught up in a
common-sense view of the matter. P'ang's slap was not only a rebuke but also a Zen answer:
that momentary experience of pain is where the snow falls, the snow falls upon you, the snow
is you. We recall that Daitō used this "octagonal millstone" image in the Shōchō Debate,
responding to the question "What is Zen, which claims to be a separate transmission outside
the teachings?" Applied to this koan, the image works in new ways. P'ang's hand, flying
through the air, has the potential to pulverize the student's most cherished assumptions. The
capping phrase may also allude to the multicornered snow- flakes flying through the air.
However light and fragile, each flake bears the full weight of reality, of the universe itself,
and if that strikes you, it will indeed feel as if you have been hit by a millstone. Because Daitō
regards this capping phrase as an apt expression of Zen, he is also validating P'ang's Zen as
authentic.

The monk said: "The student said, 'Layman, don't be so abrupt!' P'ang responded, 'You
may call yourself a student of Ch'an, but a person of understanding would not tolerate
it.' How should this be understood?"

Daitō said, "My teeth are clenched."

The student in the koan misses the point again, and this time P'ang criticizes him verbally.
(The version of P'ang's retort cited by the Daitokuji monk differs slightly from the orginal
koan, but it has the same force.) Daitō's clenched teeth indicate that he too will not open his
mouth to call Ch'üan a real Ch'an student. Daitō's refusal to elaborate may also apply to his
Daitokuji interlocutor: "Figure this part out yourself."

The monk said: "The student Ch'üan said to P'ang, 'What about you?' and P'ang
slapped him again. What was P'ang's intention?"

Daitō said, "Giving generously, holding back little."

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Ch'üan's question to P'ang—"What about you?"—has two implications: "Would you call me a
Ch'an student?" and "Are you a person of understanding?" In either case, Ch'üan is still
entangled in the duality of this-or-that. Thus Yüan-wu commented in the Blue Cliff Record:
"Again he's asking for a beating. From beginning to end this monk is at a loss." 21 P'ang
obliges by slapping him again. (In the original he adds, "Your eyes see like a blind man, your
mouth speaks like a mute.") 22 Daitō's capping phrase, "Giving generously, holding back
little," interprets the second slap as an act of kindness—a bonus beating, so to speak.

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 The monk said: "The Patriarch Hsü-t'ang said, 'Though there were two slaps, one
expressed praise and one expressed censure, one snatched up and one released.' How
can they be distinguished?"

Daitō said, "It has arrived here and is being put into practice on a grand scale."

The koan proper having ended, the Daitokuji monk cites a comment by Hsü-t'ang Chih-yü,
the Chinese master of Daitō's teacher Nanpo. Whatever the implications of Hsü-t'ang's
remark, Daitō refuses to discriminate between P'ang's two slaps. Instead, he introduces a
larger theme, asserting that "it"—the Way of Hsü-t'ang and P'ang and the other masters of
Ch'an—has been transmitted to him. Such a claim would not have been out of place in an
inauguration ceremony like the one Daitō was conducting; the establishment of Daitokuji was
in fact a benchmark in Ch'an's transmission to Japan.

The monk said, "You have been teaching us with great compassion. How would you
succinctly express the highest teachings of our school?"

Daitō said, "A thousand snowy peaks, ten thousand caves swept by cold wind."

The Daitokuji monk requests a crowning declaration from the master, and Daitō answers
poetically. The possible responses to such a question include silence, action, ordinary
language, or nonordinary language; Daitō used all of these rejoinders at different points in his
teaching. But his response here is a fine example of his eloquent Zen style: a capping phrase
that qualifies as a line of poetry, a line of poetry that doubles as a capping phrase.
Incorporating the snow motif from the koan and the height motif from the question, he depicts
the ineffable absolute as an austere and forbidding place inaccessible to humans. At the same
time his image serves as a description of his own clear and unapproachable mind-state. In
conclusion, the monk offers formulaic praise, and Daitō dismisses him:

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The monk said, "Master, you are indeed a great teacher of people and gods," and he
bowed.

Daitō said, "I permit you to return to your place."

Though this passage purports to record a spontaneous exchange between Daitō and one of his
monks, Daitō's responses are directed more to the text than to his interlocutor. The monk
quotes portions of the original koan and then prompts the master with questions that are
functionally equivalent: "What did he mean?" "How about this?" "How should this be
understood?" and so on. The one time that the monk asks a more specific question—"Were
there two kinds of slaps, as Hsü-t'ang claimed?"—the master sidesteps it. Depending on
Daitō's assessment of his disciple's performance, his final dismissal could be approving,
critical, or neutral, but here it is hard to tell.

Written Commentary in the Record of Daitō

The Record of Daitō includes a rare capping-phrase commentary on a seminal Ch'an text, the
only work of its kind in the Japanese discourse records of the Kamakura and Muromachi

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periods. Daitō was drawn to Hsüeh-tou Ch'ung-hsien, the first compiler of the Blue Cliff
Record and a master of literary Ch'an. Focusing on two volumes of the Record of Hsüeh-tou
(Hsüeh-tou lu), Daitō added copious comments between lines and within sentences. The
resulting work, Essential Words for Careful Study (Sanshō goyō), was deemed worthy of
inclusion in the authorized compendium of Daitō's teachings. Daitō begins his commentary
midway through the first volume of Hsüeh-tou's text, with the inauguration ceremony of
"Hsüeh-tou Ch'an temple" in Ming province (present Chekiang). In the following translation,
Daitō's capping phrases are italicized:

On the day of his installation as the new abbot, Hsüeh-tou stood in front of the
Dharma seat and looked out upon the assembly of monks.

Please drink this cup of wine;

beyond the Western outpost you'll find no friends.

Hsüeh-tou said, "In order to speak about the fundamental matter, it is not necessary to
ascend the jeweled high seat."

Just so, just so.

Hsüeh-tou pointed

A command that cannot be disobeyed.

and said, "Everyone, look where I am pointing. Countless Buddhalands are

simultaneously manifest there. Each one of you, look carefully at them.

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Blind!

"If you cannot see how far those Buddha-lands extend, you will remain stuck in the
mud."

Who?

Thereupon Hsüeh-tou ascended the high seat.

Thrust out so suddenly it's hard to handle.

The prefect finished reading the official letter. The precentor struck his gavel and
announced, "The dragons and elephants present at this Dharma assembly should look
at the cardinal principle." Then a monk came forward.

An opportunity hard to come by.

Hsüeh-tou seized him and said [to the assembly]: "The treasury of the true Dharma eye
of the Tathāgata is fully present here today. Release it and tiles and stones give off
light; grasp it and true gold loses its color.

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 One in front, one in back.

"I hold in my hand the hilt [of a sword]—now is the moment of life or death [for this
monk]."

The monk must know the right timing himself.

His life hangs from a thread.

"If there is a person of understanding here, let's dispose of this matter together."

There are just a lot of [ordinary] people.

The monk said, "I have come far from the seat of Master Ts'ui-feng and arrived here at
Hsüeh-tou's place of practice. Are these one or two?"

It plugs the ears of everyone on earth.

Hsüeh-tou replied, "A horse cannot catch the wind [even if he chases it] for a thousand
miles."

The wind blows and the grass bends.

The monk said, "In that case, the clouds have dispersed and the moon shines into each
house."

Would Hsüeh-tou [stoop to]fight with you?

A monk asked, "Te-shan's blows and Lin-chi's shouts are already clear. Master, how
do you guide people?" Hsüeh-tou said, "I'll spare you just this once."

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The buddhas and patriarchs hold their breath.

The monk hesitated, and Hsüeh-tou gave a shout.

It's hard to save people from false Dharma.

The monk said, "That's fine, but don't you have anything else [to offer]?" Hsüeh-tou
replied, "I shot my arrow at a tiger, but the tiger wasn't real. I just wasted the effort and
lost the [arrow's] feathers."

The first arrow went in lightly; the second arrow went deep. 23

As we unpack the language of this difficult passage, we will see how Daitō reacts to the
interplay between Hsüeh-tou and his monks. Because Daitō had presided over the
inauguration of his own temple (and two others), he responds to Hsüeh-tou's ceremony as an
experienced participant-observer, at times putting himself in Hsüeh-tou's place. Before
Hsüeh-tou utters a word, Daitō interjects his first capping phrase:

114
 On the day of his installation as the new abbot, Hsüeh-tou stood in front of the
Dharma seat and looked out upon the assembly of monks.

Please drink this cup of wine;

beyond the Western outpost you'll find no friends.

Ordinarily, an abbot does not address the assembly until he is seated in a large chair on the
rasied dais, but Hsüeh-tou is about to depart from this convention. Daitō's comment quotes a
verse by Wang Wei ( 699- 759), in which the poet bids farewell to a friend traveling to a less-
civilized region of the Chinese empire. With equal intimacy, Daitō dispatches Hsüeh-tou on
his journey into uncharted spiritual realms, suggesting that few will truly understand his
Dharma teaching. Daitō can also be addressing the assembled monks (directly or on Hsüeh-
tou's behalf), because they too are supposed to be embarking on a solitary inner voyage.

Hsüeh-tou said, "In order to speak about the fundamental matter, it is not necessary to
ascend the jeweled high seat."

Just so, just so.

Daitō concurs that true Dharma teaching has nothing to do with the ritual trappings associated
with the role of abbot.

Hsüeh-tou pointed

A command that cannot be disobeyed.

and said, "Everyone, look where I am pointing. Countless Buddhalands are

simultaneously manifest there. Each one of you, look carefully at them."

Blind!

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The direction of Hsüeh-tou's pointing is unspecified, yet it does not matter—his pointer is
itself Buddha-nature, and he is urging those in attendance to see for themselves. Daitō
compares Hsüeh-tou's injunction, the essential directive of all Zen teachers, to the "command"
of a general or a king. Daitō's one-word capping phrase "Blind!" exemplifies the polysemy of
the genre. Initially, it suggests that the monks are blind because they do not see Buddha-
nature, but it resonates on other levels as well. Because Buddha-nature cannot be seen in the
manner of a discrete sense-object, even Hsüeh-tou's fleshly eyes are blind. Ultimately,
Buddha-nature itself is blind, a finger that does not point.

"If you cannot see how far those Buddha-lands extend, you will remain stuck in the
mud."

Who?

Here Daitō implies that Hsüeh-tou himself is still stuck in the mud—if not the mud of
ignorance, then the inevitable entanglements of daily life. Through such capping phrases a

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Zen exegete seeks to show that he does not defer to anyone, however venerable, or follow any
text, however authoritative.

Thereupon Hsüeh-tou ascended the high seat.

Thrust out so suddenly it's hard to handle.

Hsüeh-tou's taking his seat is yet another demonstration of this visible/ invisible Buddha-
nature. For Daitō, the abbot's simple action is so sudden and powerful it demands a response,
as if a child had unexpectedly darted in front of an oncoming vehicle.

The prefect finished reading the official letter. The precentor struck his gavel and
announced, "The dragons and elephants present at this Dharma assembly should look
at the cardinal principle." Then a monk came forward.

An opportunity hard to come by.

The official letter is the invitation that brought Hsüeh-tou to the temple in Ming; "dragons and
elephants" is an honorific reference to the monks in attendance. Daitō's capping phrase applies
to both protagonists in the text: the monk who has presented himself has a rare chance to ask a
master about the Dharma, and Hsüeh-tou has an excellent opportunity to demonstrate his Zen.

Hsüeh-tou seized him and said [to the assembly], "The treasury of the true Dharma eye
of the Tathāgata is fully present here today. Release it and tiles and stones give off
light; grasp it and true gold loses its color."

One in front, one in back.

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The original passage does not indicate how Hsüeh-tou seized the monk or when he released
him. Using the seizure of the monk as a point of departure, Hsüeh-tou extends the theme of
apprehension and release to the Dharma. The import of his next comment is unclear—perhaps
both approaches are expedients. Daitō's phrase, "One in front, one in back," refers
simultaneously to the two alternatives in Hsüeh-tou's statement and to the two players in the
scene being enacted by the abbot and the monk.

"I hold in my hand the hilt [of a sword]—now is the moment of life or death [for this
monk]."

The monk must know the right timing himself.

His life hangs from a thread.

The predicament that Hsüeh-tou has created recalls the famous koan involving Nan-ch'üan
P'u-yuuml;an ( 748-835), who grabbed a cat in front of his monks and threatened to cut it in
half unless someone offered a timely word of Zen. Daitō's comment reinforces Hsüeh-tou's
claim that the monk's spiritual life is in the balance (to save him it might be necessary to cut
the thread).

"If there is a person of understanding here, let's dispose of this matter together."

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 There are just a lot of [ordinary] people.

Hsüeh-tou invites someone to say or do something that will win the monk's release, but Daitō
does not expect anyone in attendance to produce a satisfactory response.

The monk said, "I have come far from the seat of Master Ts'ui-feng and arrived here at
Hsüeh-tou's place of practice. Are these one or two?"

It plugs the ears of everyone on earth.

Here the original Chinese text is ambiguous on two counts: the monk speaking may be the
one who was seized or another who has just come forward, and the unstated subject also
permits "we have come far" or "you have come far." By asking, "Are these one or two?" the
monk alludes not only to the two locations and the two masters but also to such (apparent)
dualities as past and present, far and close, you the abbot and me the monk. Daitō remarks
that this question plugs everyone's ears. In some contexts his comment could indicate praise
(something so powerful it deafens), but here it seems to mean "spare us such a fatuous
question."

Hsüeh-tou replied, "A horse cannot catch the wind [even if he chases it] for a thousand
miles."

The wind blows and the grass bends.

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In Hsüeh-tou's reply, he is the wind, and the horse who cannot catch him is the inquiring
monk or even Ts'ui-feng, the other master. So Hsüeh-tou has the spiritual confidence required
of a Ch'an abbot. Daitō, continuing the wind imagery, quotes a famous line from the Analects
of Confucius: Hsüeh-tou is so masterful that the assembled monks submit to his teaching like
grass bending in the wind.

The monk said, "In that case, the clouds have dispersed and the moon shines into each
house."

Would Hsüeh-tou [stoop to] fight with you?

The monk lauds Hsüeh-tou's Dharma wind, which disperses everyone's clouds of delusion and
thereby exposes the moon of truth or insight. The monk's declaration is also a way of ending
the dialogue, equivalent to "we thank you for your excellent teaching." For Daitō, this final
remark fails to narrow the gap between Hsüeh-tou and his questioner. The capping phrase is
unusual in specifying a protagonist by name— ordinarily, referents are only implied. By this
point Daitō has become so involved with the text that he responds as if he were addressing the
monk directly. Daitō's text here omits a comment by Hsüeh-tou that appears in the original:
"A fellow with a dragon's head and a snake's tail." 24 That is, the monk made a promising start
but ended weakly.

A monk asked, "Te-shan's blows and Lin-chi's shouts are already clear. Master, how
do you guide people?" Hsüeh-tou said, "I'll spare you just this once."

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 The buddhas and patriarchs hold their breath.

Another monk comes forward, cites the teaching style of two great predecessors, and asks
Hsüeh-tou how he instructs his disciples. Because a master is expected to demonstrate his Zen
rather than explain it, the monk has exposed himself to a direct response such as a slap.
Though Hsüeh-tou "spares" him by substituting a verbal warning, Daitō depicts the buddhas
and patriarchs as braced for Hsüeh-tou's painful blow.

The monk hesitated, and Hsüeh-tou gave a shout.

It's hard to save people from false Dharma.

Even Hsüeh-tou's powerful Zen shout is not enough to edify this particular monk.

The monk said, "That's fine, but don't you have anything else [to offer]?" Hsüeh-tou
replied, "I shot my arrow at a tiger, but the tiger wasn't real. I just wasted the effort and
lost the [arrow's] feathers."

The first arrow went in lightly; the second arrow went deep.

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The monk recovers and challenges the master again, but Hsüeh-tou laments that his shout was
a wasted arrow. He compares the monk to a fake tiger and in effect suggests that he return to
his place. Severe as Hsüeh-tou's assessment may sound, there is still a possibility that it
contains a hint of approbation, in accord with the Zen convention of praise-by-slander: even a
paper tiger can alarm an unsuspecting hunter. Daitō concludes that Hsüeh-tou's second arrow
—the verbal jab —was more effective than his shout, perhaps bringing the monk closer to
some kind of insight.

Conclusion

The oral and written capping-phrase commentaries in the Record of Daitō disclose vital
aspects of Daitō's verbal style: the power and fluency of his Zen language, his exegetical zeal,
his determination to avoid discursive modes of teaching, and so on. Considered in its entirety,
however, the Record is an uneven work. Some sections scintillate, but others seem to lag or
falter. Like most discourse records of its period, Daitō's text adheres closely to the exigencies
of the goroku genre. Talks are scheduled according to the monastic calendar, ceremonies
follow standard protocol, predictable topics are taken up at certain times of year, and
encounter dialogues conform to traditional patterns.

For example, Daitō gave formal talks on the ninth day of the ninth month for seven years. On
each of these occasions Daitō or one of his monks introduced the seasonal theme of
chrysanthemums, then alluded to a particular Chinese poem about chrysanthemums (five
different times) or a certain Chinese saying about chrysanthemums (twice). 25 On the annual
double-nine date the discourse records of Nanpo and Musō refer with comparable frequency
to the chrysanthemum motif and the two Chinese allusions. We recall that the Japanese
masters of the period were compelled to give their lectures and converse with their monks in
kanbun, the cumbersome form of Japanized Chinese that was neither Japanese nor Chinese.

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The drawbacks of kanbun and the constraints of the discourse-record format are at least
partially responsible for the stilted, overly textual quality of many recorded lectures and
"dialogues."

Daitō, making a virtue of necessity, found in capping phrases a way to surmount the linguistic
and interpretive challenges he faced. Although a Zen master cannot bestow enlightenment, he
can inspire students, point them in a certain direction, correct missteps, destabilize deluded
notions, and provide well-timed triggers. Remarkably, capping phrases can be used in all of
these ways. Capping phrases enable masters and practitioners to respond to texts, oral koans,
or live situations in a manner consistent with fundamental Zen assumptions about lan

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guage and understanding. By not restating the paradoxical or poetic language of a Ch'an/Zen
passage in more conventional terms, capping phrases avoid the reductive effect of most
commentary. Because they do not explain discursively, they force readers (or listeners) to
keep going back to the text itself. In a live encounter, they do not rob a situation of its power
to generate insight. Rather than say, "The master gave a superb answer to the monk's poor
question," Daitō caps, "To buy iron and receive gold." He thereby gets more from language
and more from readers. Similarly, when he was asked about Zen in the Shōchō Debate, he
answered with a capping phrase that threw the question back to the questioner.

Capping phrases offset the impulse of Zen devotees to sanctify honored texts as infallible
scripture, just as they inhibit whatever scholastic tendencies a Zen commentator might have.
In Japan the inclination to preserve inherited traditions in set forms was especially strong, and
Daitō may have seen capping phrases as a means of forestalling this tendency in Zen. If
someone's statement is vulnerable, if a predecessor's interpretation leans to one side, Daitō
promptly "inserts the needle where it hurts." He expresses the irreverent reverence of Zen,
capping the discourse record of the distinguished master Hsüeh-tou with such phrases as
"Hsüeh-tou has opened only one eye," "Hsüeh-tou has not yet gotten that far," or "Do not
make a mistake because of Hsüeh- tou." 26 And he applies this principle to himself as well:
each time he reconsiders a koan, he caps it freshly, without reference to his earlier responses.

Daitō's attraction to capping phrases must also be assessed in the context of Ch'an's
transmission to Japan. Though the Japanese pioneers were doubly distanced from Ch'an
classics—by history and by culture —their search for authentic Zen compelled them to
grapple with these foreign texts. Not only did Daitō read the works of the masters in Chinese,
he attempted to annotate them in Chinese as well. In this light, capping phrases had obvious
virtues: they were short, relatively comprehensible, readily memorizable, sanctioned by the
tradition, and exempt from certain interpretive pitfalls. Daitō's use of capping phrases was
conservative in some respects. He adopted a hermeneutical device that came ready-made as
part of Ch'an. He did not attempt to modify the genre in any substantial way nor reach beyond
Ch'an to cap other kinds of texts, religious or secular. Nonetheless, Daitō expressed a
characteristically Japanese type of creativity—selectively borrowing a "foreign" element, he
adapted it to a new context and continued to refine it.

Daitō's style emerges not only in his mastery of the capping-phrase genre but also in his
specific responses to individual texts. Each time that he comments on the question of a monk
or the answer of a master,

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he is exposing his Zen. Each time that he caps a line of a Ch'an discourse record, he is putting
himself on the line as well. Daitō's written capping phrases are the textual equivalent of the
live demonstrations that take place in the master-disciple encounter. As he caps a text, he
enters into a dialogue with that particular work and with the Ch'an/Zen tradition as a whole.
At times this engagement is as intimate as it can be: he speaks directly to the protagonists of a
koan or to the master of a discourse record. Because many capping phrases leave subjects,
objects, and other referents unnamed, when they are out of context they must be translated
into English with infinitives or gerunds: "To insert the needle where it hurts" or "Losing one's
way and running into Bodhidharma." Once Daitō uses these phrases in specific contexts,
however, they can often be translated in accord with his dialogic involvement: "You're
inserting the needle where it hurts" or "You lost your way and ran into Bodhidharma." In
challenging the text and allowing it to challenge him, Daitō recaptures its original catalytic
power.

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10
HIS TONGUE HAS
NO BONES

During the early decades of the twelfth century, before Ch'an was introduced to Japan, Chüeh-
fan Hui-hung ( 1071-1128) accused his fellow Ch'an monks of degeneracy: "Their teaching of
the Dharma has fallen to utter ruin; everywhere Ch'an is taken to be the mere discarding of
written words and letters, and the 'subtle particularity' of Ch'an is thought to consist only in
oral transmission." 1 To counteract the anti- intellectual tendencies that dismayed him, Chüeh-
fan advocated wen-tzu Ch'an, a "literary" or "lettered" Ch'an that sought to integrate spiritual
practice, learning, and literary pursuits. Though some of Chüeh- fan's ideas were realized
through the continued interaction between Ch'an and secular Chinese culture, an unabashedly
literary style of Ch'an was sharply rejected by Chüeh-fan's influential contemporary Ta-hui
Tsung-kao. 2 From then on, the term wen-tzu Ch'an (moji Zen in Japanese) carried negative
connotations: a wordy or overly conceptual Zen. 3 The vocabularies of Ch'an and Zen thus
lack a neutral, commonly accepted name for literary Zen. For Western observers at least,
"literary Zen" refers to any attempt to express Zen in a manner that has literary value. In some
cases, the term may also indicate the search for commonalities between Zen and literature,
especially poetry.

Eloquent Zen, a related concept, also lacks a direct equivalent in the lexicon of Ch'an/Zen. In
the West, eloquence aims to "appeal to the reason or move the feelings," and it derives much
of its force from "appropriateness." 4 Eloquence in Zen is something quite different: it appeals
neither to reason nor to emotion, and it seeks to transform rather than to persuade, often by
disrupting rational thought and defying

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ing conventional language. Though eloquent Zen and literary Zen are synonymous in some
contexts, the distinction between the two can be significant. For example, later Rinzai monks
praised Daitō as a master of eloquent Zen but denigrated Musō as a master of literary Zen.

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Daitō was heir to a Ch'an/Zen lineage renowned for its skill in articulating the Way. Two of
his religious ancestors, Yün-men and Hsüeh- tou, were greatly esteemed for their verbal
prowess; the affinities Daitō felt with both men have already been noted. If Yün-men was the
first Chinese master to respond incisively to koans with capping phrases, Daitō was the first
Japanese master to respond incisively to Ch'an classics with capping phrases. To that degree
at least, Nanpo may have been justified in calling his most promising disciple a "second Yün-
men." Hsüeh-tou, a direct-line descendant of Yün-men, was no less influential than his
predecessor. According to Yanagida Seizan, Hsüeh- tou represents a turning point in the
development of Ch'an and its literature: "Before long, Hsüeh-tou of the Yün-men school
created a unique Zen literature, and with this the course of Zen history was altered. The
change in the history of the Zen school after Hsüeh-tou was, in a word, a shift toward the
literary rather than the philosophical." 5 Daitō's early and unerring recognition of Hsüeh-tou's
importance is a mark of Daitō's own significance. Among the pioneers of Japanese Zen, only
Daitō created koan commentaries in the manner of Hsüeh-tou, and Daitō alone prepared an
annotated edition of Hsüeh-tou's discourse record.

A more immediate influence on Daitō was his teacher's teacher, Hsü- t'ang Chih-yü. Hsü-t'ang
had been a prominent figure in a group of Chinese monks and literati who were interested in
the links between Ch'an and poetry. Some members of Hsü-t'ang's circle went so far as to
claim that the way of Ch'an and the way of poetry were one: writing a poem could therefore
be a legitimate form of spiritual practice. 6 In his own work, Hsü-t'ang artfully used natural
images to convey religious messages and moods. Many of his verses lack any explicit
reference to Buddhist topics; others allude to Buddhism only through subtly coded
conventions. The following stanza illustrates Hsü-t'ang's style:

Listening to Snow

Cold night, no wind, bamboo making noises,

noises far apart, now bunched together,
filtering the pine-flanked lattice.
Listening with ears is less fine than listening with the mind.
Beside the lamp I lay aside the half scroll of sutra. 7

In its movement from evocative imagery to the expression of a religious truth, this poem
exemplifies the synthesis of literature and Zen to

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which Daitō aspired. One of the implications of the poem is that the voice of the Buddha can
be heard so clearly in the rattling of bamboo that the written scriptures may be put aside. Yet
there is also an inescapable paradox here. The poem, like the abandoned sutra, uses words to
express a realization that is beyond words.

Hsü-t'ang enhanced his reputation as a master of Ch'an language by capping his own
compilation of a hundred koans (using one final capping phrase per koan). 8 This text, brought
to Japan by Nanpo, undoubtedly stimulated Daitō, though Daitō preferred interlinear capping
phrases to final ones. Hsü-t'ang was not without critics: colleagues such as Lan-ch'i
reproached him for being excessively literary. But his impact on Japanese Zen has endured for
centuries. Ikkyū, a distinguished poet in his own right, singled out Hsü-t'ang as the

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reincarnation of the celebrated Chinese poet Hsü Hun ( 791-854). In contemporary Rinzai
Zen, quotations from Hsü-t'ang's works permeate the standard capping-phrase anthologies,
and his koan collection is still used in the advanced training of monks.

The Ch'an/Zen tradition is not the only context in which the literary dimensions of Daitō's Zen
style can be apprehended. In the early fourteenth century, members of Japan's cultured elite
were animated by new forms of artistic expression, especially in poetry. Some of these
developments had been partially stimulated by exposure to Zen, but others were the outcome
of native movements. Like the Chinese, the Japanese had for centuries been interested in the
relation of poetry to religion. They too had come to regard the practice of poetry and the
practice of Buddhism as mutually reinforcing, if not fundamentally congruent. Problems
associated with the verbal expression of enlightenment (and other religious experiences) had
been investigated in literary circles as well as Buddhist ones. During Daitō's lifetime the
poets, priests, and courtiers of Kyoto were captivated by renga, or linked verse. In intimate
gatherings and in groups of up to a hundred, they created long sequences of linked poems by
responding to each other in turn. What had once been an entertaining capping-verse exercise
became a sophisticated poetic genre and a vehicle for the expression of religious devotion.
One of the men who played a pivotal role in the cultural milieu of the day was Daitō's patron
and disciple Emperor Hanazono. As we will see below, Hanazono and Daitō contributed
jointly and independently to the era's extended exploration of Zen, literature, and exegesis.

A Proper Response to the Textual Tradition

In order to appreciate the position of Daitō's written works in the development of Japanese
Zen, we must return briefly to the theme of authen

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tic Zen. The Japanese pioneers regarded enlightenment as the principal criterion of Zen, and
they identified several other essential components of Zen: zazen, emblems of Dharma
transmission, the monastic rule, monastery construction, and withdrawal from the world.
Another indicator of genuine Zen during the transmission period was a proper response to the
textual tradition. Sutras, which represented the teachings of Shakyamuni Buddha, could
clarify or deepen one's understanding at any stage of the path. The Ch'an corpus, as shaped by
Sung bibliographers, was believed to reveal the enlightened awareness of the masters through
their words and behavior. Koans, the most peculiar of texts, were intended to function as
expressions of enlightenment, triggers to enlightenment, and vehicles for the exploration of
specific aspects of enlightenment.

Much can be learned from the Japanese pioneers' struggle to clarify their stance toward the
Buddhist scriptures. Willingly or unwillingly, they became embroiled in a long-standing
dispute that had been inherited from their Chinese predecessors. As we have seen, Ch'an/Zen
defined itself as "a separate transmission outside the teachings" (Ch. chiao-wai pieh-ch'uan;
Jp. kyōge betsuden), according to the classic verse attributed to Bodhidharma. In this phrase,
chiao (kyō) implied several related referents: the Buddhist teachings, the sutras, and the
doctrinal schools. All Buddhist schools besides Ch'an and Zen, such as Hua-yen in China or
Tendai in Japan, were classed as doctrinal.

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A rival approach within Ch'an/Zen advocated "the unity of the teachings and Ch'an/Zen" (Ch.
chiao-ch'an i-chih; Jp. kyōzen itchi), in which Zen and the teachings were seen as different but
equally valid expressions of the same truth. Because literal translations are cumbersome here,
let us call these two streams sutra-free Zen and sutra-linked Zen, respectively. The masters
who upheld sutra-linked Zen often used sutra quotations and doctrinal explanations, and they
accepted the practices of other Buddhist schools in their temples. An early and influential
advocate of this approach was Tsung-mi ( 780-841), honored by doctrinal and Ch'an lineages
alike. Sutra-linked Zen reached its peak in the early Sung period; its most complete exposition
is found in the Mirror Record of the [ Ch'an ] School (Tsung-ching lu), a treatise of one
hundred chapters completed in 961.

Eisai was one of the first Japanese masters to be troubled by Zen's relation to the sutras. The
Ch'an he had embraced in China gave precedence to sutra-free Zen but also recognized sutra-
linked Zen. On his return to Japan, Eisai was alarmed to see that sutra-free Zen was
(allegedly) being interpreted by Nōnin in an antinomian way, risking the provocation of the
powerful Tendai sect. In Eisai's main work, Promulgation of Zen as a Defense of the Nation,
an unnamed questioner asks him:

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It is said that this [Zen] school is "not dependent on words." This is close to the false
view of emptiness, similar to one type of obscure realization. If so, the Tendai school
opposes it.... It is said in the Hsüan-i [ Profound Meaning (of the Lotus Sutra)]: "If a
man who contemplates his mind thinks that his adherence to his mind is correct, that
he himself is thereby equal to Buddha, and that he does not need to consult the sutras
and treatises, he will fall into arrogance. This is like burning oneself with one's own
torch."...How could the Zen school's "not depending on words" avoid this difficulty? 9

Eisai answers by saying that those who truly understand Zen have no need to reject the sutras,
and he proceeds to quote a wide range of Buddhist scriptures. Of the few Ch'an texts that
Eisai cites in this tract, his favorite is the classic of sutra-linked Zen, the Mirror Record of the
Ch'an School. Yet he also endorses the "separate transmission" slogan of sutra- free Zen. 10
Perhaps frustrated by his inability to adopt a stance that was theoretically consistent and
politically viable, Eisai concluded that both elements of the traditional dichotomy should be
transcended: "'Teachings' and 'Zen' are just names; 'practice' and 'study' are also just
provisional names.... The Zen school is...inconceivable, ultimately ungraspable." 11

Whereas Eisai's strategy was to embrace as many positions as possible, Dōgen chose a
different tack. In his diary he reports the following conversation with his master Ju-ching:

I asked: "Now priests everywhere speak about the 'special transmission outside the
scriptures.' This, they declare, is the real meaning in the First Patriarch Bodhidharma's
coming from the West. What do they mean?"

Ju-ching taught: "How could the great Way of the buddhas and patriarchs have
anything to do with 'inside' or 'outside'?...The world could not have two Buddha-
Dharmas." 12

Dōgen interpreted this answer as a rejection of sutra-free Zen. In later writings he condemned
sutra-free Zen as a "fallacy," insisting that "an enlightened person always masters the sutras to

123
full advantage." 13 Thus when Dōgen built a temple, he included a building for sutra study.
However, Dōgen censured forms of practice that combined elements from other Buddhist
schools, thereby shunning the eclecticism associated with sutra-linked Zen. 14

Musō was the most prominent master to be criticized in his own day for leaning too far
toward sutra-linked Zen. Someone asked him pointblank: "If you are a descendant of Lin-chi,
why do you always lecture on the sutras instead of teaching the fundamental matter to the
monks?" 15 Emperor Hanazono condemned Musō's Zen style as "still

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bound by the rope of doctrine." 16 Like Eisai, Musō defended himself by attempting to
transcend the terms of the debate: "The Buddha did not call himself only a man of doctrine
(kyō) nor did he call himself only a man of Zen. Nor did he separate his teachings into a
doctrine portion and a Zen portion, because Buddha's inner realization cannot be equated with
either of them." 17

Other concerns are also discernible beneath the surface of this discourse, which was more
than a debate about the relation between enlightenment and written expressions of
enlightenment. One can hear the masters' uncertainty about what voice to adopt in their
teaching and writing. The sutras were authoritative, relatively accessible, and revered in
common by many Buddhist schools, so there must have been some reluctance to abandon this
corpus for the stranger works of Ch'an, as the kyōge betsuden principle seemed to require.
Consciously or not, the Japanese pioneers were also working out the relationship between
Japanese Zen and Chinese Ch'an. Which styles and streams of Ch'an were most correct, and to
what degree were the Japanese compelled to adhere to them? The controversy about Zen's
stance toward texts touched upon other crucial issues as well: What was distinctive about Zen
in comparison with the other ("doctrinal") schools of Buddhism? What was Zen's proper
relation to those other schools? Even if such questions had been settled satisfactorily in China,
they had not yet been resolved in Japan.

It was against this backdrop that Daitō developed a Zen style that was faithful to certain
streams of Ch'an, free from overreliance on texts, and also adaptively Japanese. On the one
hand, he is identified as a master of sutra-free Zen, because he stressed that genuine
awakening far surpasses any textually derived forms of understanding. On the other hand, he
developed a Zen style that was both eloquent and literary. Though he did not expound the
sutras, he extensively interpreted the classics of Ch'an. Whereas Eisai and Musō attempted to
surmount the distinction between "Zen" and "teachings" in a manner that seems largely
rhetorical, Daitō found a way to transcend the problem in practice, through a new
commentarial approach and through poetry. In this task he was aided by some native Japanese
literary developments, to which we now turn.

Japanese Influences on Daitō's Zen Style

In Japan, as in other Asian cultures, poetry has played a central role in cultural life, and it has
long been valued as a form of religious expression. In the century preceding Daitō's birth,
certain ideas about the relation between poetry and Buddhism were articulated with new
confidence. Members of the priesthood and the literati class cultivated a

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genre known as Shakkyō-ka, "poems on the Buddha's teachings." 18 In some circles, poetry
was placed on a level with Buddhist doctrine, and the Japanese language was equated with the
canonical languages of the sutras. For example, Mujō Ichien argued that a waka (a five-line
Japanese verse) could be equivalent to a dharani (a Buddhist spell using foreign sounds):

When we consider waka as a means to religious realization, we see that it has the
virtue of serenity and peace, of putting a stop to the distractions and undisciplined
movement of the mind. With a few words it encompasses its sentiment. This is the
nature of mystic verse, or dharani.... Japanese poems do not differ from the words of
the Buddha.... Had the Buddha appeared in Japan, he would simply have used
Japanese for mystic verses.... Though Japanese poetry also uses the ordinary words of
the world, when we use waka to convey our spiritual intentions, there will surely be a
favorable response. And should it embody the spirit of the Buddha's Law, there can be
no doubt that it will be a dharani. 19

Once such correlations were invoked, others followed. The writing of poetry was likened to
the practice of meditation and to the recitation of Buddhist sutras. Poems were regarded as
suitable offerings to temples and shrines, and there was serious discussion about whether or
not the composition of verse could advance one along the path to enlightenment. 20

Japan also had its own capping tradition, centered on verses rather than the pithy phrases
characteristic of Zen. In the oldest history of Japan someone successfully answers a test
question with a capping verse. A poem in Japan's first poetry collection has a "head"
composed by one person and a "tail" composed by another. 21 A poetic game popular among
the aristocracy of the Heian period ( 794-1185) bears some resemblance to the capping
exercise that would later be brought to Japan as part of Zen. As Donald Keene explains,

Often a riddle was presented in the maeku (first verse) and the poem was completed by
another person with a tsukeku (added verse) of wit and ingenuity. The more
complicated or absurd the situation described in the maeku ("a deer is standing in the
middle of the sea"), the greater the achievement of the person who could make sense
of the whole by adding a cleverly explicative two lines ("the reflection of the mountain
is cast on the waves"). 22

Linked verse attained unprecedented popularity, in the form of renga, during the years that
Daitō was teaching at Daitokuji. Following conventions derived from waka, the participants
in a renga session took turns writing lines, cooperating (and sometimes competing) to
produce a

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work that muted individual voices for the sake of the whole. Renga involved a complex form
of capping: the end of any poem in the link also served as the beginning of the next in a
sequence that could be expanded indefinitely. There is no record of Daitō having participated
in renga sessions, though he was undoubtedly familiar with the genre. His early teacher Kōhō,
his fellow master Musō, and his disciple Hanazono all enjoyed linked verse; according to one
source, Kōhō and Musō "composed renga night and day." 23

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A degree of literary ability was expected of ordinary monks. Yanagida has claimed that
"without a high level of competence in poetry, it was impossible even to begin Zen practice."
24
Though this may be overstating the case, masters and senior monks commonly tutored
younger students in poetry composition. Kokan Shiren, a leading Zen figure and one of
Daitō's contemporaries, described the process:

I have some pupils who fool about, joke, chaff, and won't recite their lessons. When I
prod and scold them to write poetry, they say, "But we don't know the rules of tone
and meter." When I tell them to forget the rules and just write out lines with the correct
number of syllables, they grumble and complain. But I do not become upset, and in
spite of themselves they present me with some lines. Their poems may be halting,
uneven, doltish, and clumsy, and sometimes make no sense at all; but still, they are
often filled with a self-possessed purity and integrity that make me marvel. 25

Japanese Zen monks began to face questions that had also vexed their Chinese predecessors.
Was literary prowess an indication of advanced spiritual development? Would progress in
one's practice improve the quality of one's poetry? Those who set great store by the literary
dimensions of Zen construed the relation between the two realms as follows: a lack of verbal
skill in expressing the Dharma is a salient indication that the highest level of realization has
not yet been attained. 26 A number of Daitō's capping phrases make this point more tersely (in
context): "His tongue is already long" or "His tongue has bones." A century and a half after
Daitō's death, Zen attainment and poetic skill were equated in emphatic terms. "The one
flavor of poetry and Zen" became a popular slogan. Around 1500, Chūhō En'i claimed,
"Anyone who has mastered Zen will be able to write good poetry," 27 and another monk
argued, "Outside of poetry there is no Zen, outside of Zen there is no poetry." 28

As might be expected, some Zen monks were harshly criticized for literary tendencies that
seemed excessive. Passionate accusations were rebutted with equal intensity. When I-shan I-
ning recited a Chinese poem on a ceremonial occasion, a monk objected, "You aren't talking
about Zen Buddhism! You're only talking about literary matters!"

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"Blind fool," retorted I-shan. "It is you who do not see the Way! I recite my poetry for those
who can understand it." 29 Musō was well known in his time as a gifted poet, yet he blamed
others and was himself blamed for being unacceptably devoted to letters. When he ranked his
own disciples, Musō placed poetry-loving monks in the lowest category, branding them as
"shaven-headed laymen" and "robed ricebags." 30 Unlike I-shan and Musō (and Hsü-t'ang),
Daitō was never accused of being too literary. Whereas Musō was one of the originators and
leading figures of the "literature of the Five Mountains" (Gozan bungaku), Daitō is
conspicuously absent from the poetic anthologies of the period.

Emperor Hanazono gives voice in his diary to certain notions that Daitō must also have
pondered; it is reasonable to assume that the two men discussed some of these matters with
each other. Hanazono describes in considerable detail his efforts to express his understanding
of Buddhism in his poetry. In one revealing passage of 1332, several years after his
awakening had been sanctioned by Daitō, the former emperor acknowledges his debt to Daitō
and identifies one of his poetry mentors, Kyōgoku Tamekane ( 1253-1332). Kyōgoku had
taught Hanazono that "there cannot be any sense of distinction between Dharma and poetry."
When Kyōgoku praised Hanazono's poetry as reflecting the "true essence" of the Dharma,

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Hanazono was greatly pleased. 31 Far from being a dilettante, the former emperor made
significant contributions to medieval culture. He served as an initial conduit for Zen's
considerable influence on Japanese poetry, and he was one of the first to express his Zen
understanding in the form of a waka. 32 Andrew Goble believes that Hanazono also used
Buddhist ideas to reconceptualize the role of the imperial family in Japanese society. 33 We
know that Daitō taught the former emperor how to work on koans and use Zen capping
phrases; it is not difficult to imagine that Hanazono influenced Daitō in a reciprocal manner.

Daitō's Poetry

Daitō was not only a dynamic teacher and an astute exegete; he was also a talented poet. His
poetry and his capping-phrase works are closely related, and both genres exemplify his
literary/eloquent Zen style. Like most Japanese monks of his period, Daitō wrote various
kinds of poetry in two different languages. When he sought to express himself in a traditional
and dignified manner, he wrote in Sino-Japanese (kanbun), using only Chinese characters.
Forty-eight commentarial stanzas composed in this manner (known as juko) are included in
the Record of Daitō. Daitō similarly used kanbun for most of the poems addressed to his
disciples, whether delivered orally or brushed onto a calligraphic scroll. He also wrote lighter
verse in Japanese; about seventy poems in this vein

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are traditionally attributed to him, though their sources cannot always be verified.

Within the Zen tradition, Daitō's poetry has been highly acclaimed. Hakuin expressed his
appreciation using colorful metaphors:

These commentarial verses (juko) are the golden mallet that smashes apart the curtains
of unrealization and self-proclaimed realization. They are the old mirror which
distinguishes the true and the false in those who haven't penetrated and those who
have. They are precious vessels that enable those who search in inner mystery to
penetrate profoundly the abysmal depths. 34

One of Daitō's poems prompted Hakuin to add: "This whole verse is like a great ball of
flaming metal, a red-hot iron stake. It's impossible to get at it, no matter what you do. Who
among you knows that the National Master [ Daitō ] lost his body and his life when he
achieved these lines?" 35

Most of Daitō's poems refer explicitly to some aspect of Zen or Buddhist tradition: koans,
doctrinal concepts, religious lore, and so on. Often Daitō cites his source material as a
headnote or a title. The following poem is about the beginning of Shakyamuni's religious
quest and, by extension, the first step on anyone's spiritual path. In this version of the legend,
Shakyamuni is summoned by the god ōuddha-āvāsa:

Śuddha-āvāsa, hands palm-to-palm, appears at the window.

Full moon in the palace pond a gem

though it's not yet autumn;
this quiet night he knows the ripples have changed.

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 From here he'll walk the path as if deluded,
huge Dantaloka Mountain hard as iron. 36

The opening two lines of Daitō's poem suggest Shakyamuni's inherent completeness (even
before the start of practice), and the third line connotes the first wave of spiritual aspiration,
the arising of the mind that seeks the Way. Not only will Shakyamuni's intense exertions
make him appear crazed, but as a teacher he will eventually spend forty years "selling water
by the river." For Daitō, Shakyamuni's aspiration and determination seem as lofty and
unshakable as Dantaloka Mountain, where the former prince is said to have endured death-
defying austerities. Reading this poem centuries later, Hakuin was reminded of Hsüeh-tou,
who composed the commentarial verses in the Blue Cliff Record: "What a pity that Ming-
Hsüeh [ Hsüeh-tou ] could not have seen this verse. Even one glance would have given him
goose bumps." 37

Other poems by Daitō begin with a Buddhist reference but move away from a densely allusive
mode. The following verse uses a quotation from Ch'an master Nan-ch'üan as its
headnote/title:

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Nan-ch'üan said, "I don't know anything about buddhas in the three worlds."

If he had known buddhas exist

in the three worlds,
suddenly no spring flowers,
no full moon in the fall. 38

Daitō uses some natural imagery here, but the thrust of the poem is doctrinal. His point
(rephrased in philosophical language) is that if one has a dualistic notion of buddhas existing
apart from the natural universe, then one will not be able to see or appreciate things as they
are. For those who have perceived the Buddha-nature of spring flowers, the next step is to
forget about Buddha-nature and just see the flowers as flowers.

Some of Daitō's poems avoid explicit references to Zen or Buddhism yet continue to resonate
with Zen-like implications. In one of his lighter verses he tells of an unexpected rainshower:

No umbrella, getting soaked,

I'll just use the rain as my raincoat. 39

Out of context, the following verse by Daitō seems to have shed all traces of Zen:

The spring hills are blue,

the spring waters green,
the spring clouds are scattered,
the spring birds chirp ceaselessly. 40

However, in this case appearances are deceptive. The poem not only alludes to an earlier
verse by Hsüeh-tou; 41 it also was used by Daitō to test his monks. The poem's original
context is disclosed in the Record of Daitō. Addressing the assembled monks, Daitō says:

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 The spring hills are blue,
the spring waters green,
the spring clouds are scattered,
the spring birds chirp ceaselessly.

I ask all of you: In our school, is this affirmed? Is this denied? Return to your chambers and
grope for an answer. 42

In some of Daitō's poems, especially those in Japanese, his voice is more personal:

It's over, the "buddhas and patriarchs" disease

that once gripped my chest.
Now I'm just an ordinary man
with a clean slate. 43

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Assuming the poem is sincerely autobiographical, one wonders at what point in Daitō's life it
was composed. Many Zen monks have reported that a bout with disease sparked a Zen
insight, though these lines could also be the thoughts of a seasoned monk nearing the end of
his life.

For Daitō, poetry and capping phrases were often interchangeable: both genres aimed for
concision, suggestiveness, and depth. Daitō composed his own poetic capping phrases, used
the poetry of others as capping phrases, and used capping phrases in his poetry. In one context
he might respond to a koan by writing a verse; in other contexts he would comment on the
same koan with capping phrases. 44 And sometimes he did both, annotating a Ch'an text first
with a capping phrase and then with a stanza. 45 The convergence of the two genres can be
seen in the following poem:

Nan-ch'üan Cuts the Cat

Holding up the cat for everyone to see,
cutting it one, two, three —
a hammer head without a hole. 46

The first line cites the well-known Zen koan in which master Nanch'üan (allegedly) kills a cat
because his monks cannot provide an appropriate Zen response to their master's threat. The
second line, "cutting it one, two, three," sounds much like a capping phrase: numbers in series
are used frequently by Daitō in his capping-phrase commentaries. The third line is indeed a
capping phrase, one of Daitō's favorites. We noted, in the preceding chapter, that a holeless
hammer head can serve as a metaphor for the ungraspable truth. Here it is also effective in
other ways, suggesting the violence of the scene and the smashed preconceptions of those
present.

The capping-phrase quality of the following poem is readily apparent:

When Te-shan was leaving the Yangtze, he summoned Kao-t'ing. Kao-t'ing left Heng-ch'ü.

Te-shan's invitation is
one two three four five six seven

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 and eight nine ten,
Kao-t'ing's departure is
ten nine eight seven six five four
and three two one. 47

Even if one lacks further information about the incident in the headnote, the poem is a light-
hearted expression of the "thusness" prized by Zen. Comings and goings — just as they are —
abundantly manifest Buddha-nature, so they are also not-comings and not-goings. According
to

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the full story, Te-shan summoned Kao-t'ing by gesturing with a fan; Kao-t'ing thereupon had
an enlightenment experience, and that is why Kao-t'ing left Heng-ch'ü. 48

Zen, Language, and Zen Language

In the Gateless Barrier, Wu-men skillfully frames a long-standing conundrum:

If you understand the first word of Zen

you will know the last word.
The last word or the first word —
"it" is not a word. 49

Zen tradition reserves its highest praise for masters who combined deep realization with
verbal fluency. Daitō is among those so honored. We have seen how energetically he used
language in the service of spiritual liberation: delivering Dharma talks, engaging students in
Zen debate, exchanging correspondence, copying manuscripts, creating koans, quoting or
composing capping phrases, and writing poetry. One of the first manuscripts in Daitō's hand is
his transcription of the Transmission of the Lamp. It testifies to his belief that Dharma
transmission has a verbal dimension as well as a nonverbal one, and it shows him hard at
work learning the conventions of his discursive community. In his reverent colophon Daitō
referred simultaneously to the patriarchal lineage and to the text that recorded it: "This is
indeed the spiritual activity of a thousand sages, the life-artery of the heroic patriarchs." 50

Daitō's eloquent Zen begins, paradoxically, with a recognition of the limitations of language,
a cardinal tenet of Buddhism in general and Zen in particular. One of the most troublesome
properties of language, according to the Buddhist critique, is its implicit acceptance of the
dualistic view of self-and-other that is at the root of delusion. Nāgārjuna ( second century c.e.)
went to great lengths to demonstrate that if a statement is construed as a true representation of
reality, it inevitably leads to self-contradiction, and the import of his analysis was embraced
by all later schools of Buddhism. A hermeneutical claim is central to Ch'an's classic self-
definition: "a separate transmission outside the teachings, not depending on words." Countless
Ch'an/Zen anecdotes and images reiterate the point that the essential Zen experience cannot be
adequately conveyed through a text: a famous painting depicts the Sixth Patriarch tearing up a
sutra, Te-shan destroys his lecture notes, Ta-hui burns the Blue Cliff Record, and so on.

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The theme of language's limits was prominent in Daitō's early training and later teaching. He
had his first Zen insight when he overheard someone recite Pai-chang's verse about the
ineffability of truth:

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Truth's naked radiance,

cut off from the senses and the world,
shines by itself —
no words for it. 51

Daitō's most memorable rejoinder in the Shōchō Debate was prompted by the question "What
is Zen, which claims to be a separate transmission outside the teachings?" He answered with
his mysterious flying millstone image — whatever Zen is, it cannot be explained verbally. In
a short treatise called Evening Discussion at Shōun-an (Shōunyawa), he confronts a fellow
Zen teacher identified only as Kō, known for his reliance on the Śūraṃgama Sutra and certain
doctrinal formulations. Daitō accuses Kō of trying to "get the meaning through words" and
says, "I strongly reject that." 52

With his own students, Daitō emphasized that those with the Dharma eye see things too
momentous to be fitted into language. He favored the Zen adage "As soon as you call it
something, you've already missed the mark," assigning it to his disciples as a koan. 53
Approaching the issue from a different direction, he made it clear that the least authentic
course is to attempt to expound the Dharma without any personal experience of realization. In
one of his vernacular sermons he relates a graphic story about a Chinese Dharma master
named Yün-kuang who served Emperor Wu of Liang. Though Yün-kuang preached
Buddhism with apparent eloquence, he had not awakened, and someone accused him of being
"a species of animal." Emperor Wu sharply dismissed this charge, reports Daitō, but the next
time the Emperor saw Yün-kuang teaching the Dharma, "Yün-kuang was a cow." 54

The matter does not end, of course, with an acknowledgment of the pitfalls of language.
Although Zen masters decry the power of words to perpetuate ignorance, they nonetheless use
words to express their own enlightenment and to spur others on the path. Paradoxical as it
may seem, Pai-chang's declaration that there are "no words for it" was set in verse, and the
line communicated enough to Daitō, across gaps of time and culture, to spark a powerful
insight. Rather than lapse into silence, which can also be one-sided, masters sought to make
language fresh and full of impact. The Blue Cliff Record declares:

The ancients weren't like people today with their spurious shallow talk; otherwise,
how could they have used a single word or half a phrase for a whole lifetime?
Therefore, when it came to supporting the teaching of the school and continuing the
life of the buddhas, they would spit out a word or half a phrase which would
spontaneously cut off the tongues of everyone on earth. There's no place for you to
produce a train of thought, to make intellectual interpretations, or to grapple with
principles. 55

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From a Buddhist standpoint, the problem faced by Zen masters can be expressed in terms of
the (provisional) distinction between the ultimate and conventional realms. Enlightenment is

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ultimate, language is conventional. How can one speak from an ultimate level using
conventional-level language? This dilemma was the wellspring of the diverse rhetorical
strategies employed by the masters: ordinary language used in nonordinary ways, meaningless
language, paradox, poetry, capping phrases, acting out, gestures, and silence. All these are the
language of Zen.

Though the slogan "not depending on words" was accepted as classic Ch'an doctrine after the
ninth centry, interpretations of it varied. Tsung-mi was among the first to treat the phrase as
an expedient teaching device rather than a literal statement. 56 The grammatical ambiguity of
the original wording permits another reading that expands the possibilities for eloquent Zen:
"words that are not dependent." Such words are used freely, without attachment, and with an
understanding that they are mere pointers to a reality that is itself nonsubstantial. Words may
thus lead to bondage or liberation, depending on the spirit behind them, the manner in which
they are used, and the receptivity of the listener. Yüan-wu accordingly made a heuristic
distinction between two kinds of language:

Examine the live word; don't examine the dead word. One who adheres utterly to the
live word will not forget for an eternity of kalpas. One who adheres utterly to the dead
word will never be able to save himself. If you want to take the patriarchs and buddhas
as your masters, you must clearly choose the live word. 57

In this context, silence does not have privileged status. Though it may appear to transcend
conventional-level discourse, it too functions as a sign. In a letter to Hanazono's consort,
Daitō asserted: "It [the Original Face] cannot be reached by words, it cannot be reached by
silence." 58 A koan favored by Daitō further illumines this point:

A monk asked Feng-hsüeh, "Both speech and silence are involved in separation and
discrimination. How can we proceed without erring?" Feng-hsüeh said,

I'll always remember Chiang-nan in spring —

the partridges chirping, the flowers so fragrant. 59

The master in the koan, Feng-hsüeh, does not quarrel with the monk's point that words and
silence are equally subject to relative distinctions. Rather, the master makes a revealing move
— he turns to poetry and describes a natural scene. Daitō not only presented this koan to his
disciples; in at least one instance he cited it verbatim as his response to

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another koan. 60 In this way, the Zen discourse about the deficiencies of language and silence
exhibits a rich intertextuality, however ironic or paradoxical that may be.

Some of the conclusions reached by Ch'an/Zen were reinforced by parallel developments in

East Asian literary theory, especially in Japan. For poets, words were needed to express the
ineffable heart/mind; for Zen practitioners, the world of form was the only point of access to
the realm of emptiness. The dialectics of both traditions accordingly sanctioned the revelation
of meaning in language and form. As David Pollack has noted:

Earlier Japanese poetic thought held that heart and words, while obviously different,
were inseparable aspects of the same unity. Zen metaphysics, too, insisted upon a

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 simultaneous identity and distinction between Void and Color [emptiness and form]. If
carried to its logical extreme, then, the equation implies that not only is meaning
formless and form meaningless; meaning is also to be found in form itself, and form in
meaning. 61

Daitō composed a verse in Japanese that deftly addresses the interrelation of form, emptiness,
and meaning. It is a response to a verse in the Diamond Sutra in which the Buddha states that
those who try to see him through form or hear him through sound are searching in the wrong
direction. The poem in the sutra says:

If you try to see me through form

or hear me through sound,
nothing you see or hear
is where I am. 62

This is a koan (it was so used in Zen), since all we can see is form. Can Buddha-nature be
seen through form or not? Daitō capped the Diamond Sutra verse with one of his own:

No form, no sound —
here I am;
white clouds fringing the peaks,
river cutting through the valley. 63

Daitō's pithy verse solves a number of problems concurrently. In characteristic Zen fashion,
he speaks in the Buddha's voice as well as his own. Becoming the Buddha beyond form and
sound, he (paradoxically) reveals his true form. Buddha / Daitō can indeed be seen by those
who have the eye: just look at the clouds over the mountain, or the river in the valley, or
anywhere else. The poem exemplifies Daitō's participation in Zen's shift from the
philosophical to the literary. In poetry he found a means to express the inexpressible; such
poetry was also a "separate transmission outside the teachings."

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Because Zen language is so distinctive and unconventional — and because language is so

consequential in Zen — learning Zen and learning its language are intimately related. As Dale
Wright has observed, "Some degree of fluency in this language would be prerequisite to
experiencing what Zen is about." 64 By extension, mastery of Zen discourse is a key indication
of mastery in Zen. However, to recognize that some aspects of Zen experience are
linguistically mediated is not to assert that enlightenment is reducible to language.
Enlightenment may be an awakening from language, at least in the sense that one is less
bound by false assumptions about language's referential capacity. Enlightenment may also be
an awakening to language, "a transformation of how one dwells in the linguistically shaped
cultural world that is the practitioner's inheritance." 65

Thus the matter comes around full circle. What begins with a denial of language's ability to
express enlightenment ends with a dialectically opposite claim — that it is possible for
realization and expression to converge. If so, we must add one further category to the list of
distinctive Zen rhetorical strategies: ordinary language used in ordinary ways.

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"Even in ordinary conversation," wrote Daitō, "an awakened person speaks in the voice of the
Dharma." 66 And yet such speaking is also a kind of nonspeaking. According to Yün-men,

Even if he talks all day, in reality nothing cleaves to his lips and teeth, for he has
actually not spoken a single word. 67

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11
DAITŌ'S IMPACT

I'll join Shakyamuni in retirement. (Daitō capping phrase)

Daitō passed away on a cold afternoon in the winter of 1337. The earliest account of his
death, in Shunsaku's Exploits of National Master Daitō, asserts that on the twenty-second day
of the twelfth month, after nine months of an unnamed illness, the master knew that he would
soon take his last breath. Despite his weakened condition and a crippled left leg, he resolved
to die in the traditional full-lotus posture. When he wrenched both legs into position, he broke
his left leg at the knee, and blood began to seep through his robe. At this point, according to
Shunsaku, Daitō still had the strength and the composure to write a four-line death verse in
Chinese. He finished the poem, dropped his brush, and passed away sitting upright. 1

Here again we confront the ambiguous interface between biography and hagiography.
Because the attributes of an exemplary death had previously been articulated in Ch'an/Zen,
influencing Daitō and his biographers alike, distinctions between fact and legend remain
elusive. The following prayer, attributed to Ch'an master Ta-hui, is still chanted daily in many
Japanese Zen monasteries:

I wish to die with a premonition of death the week beforehand, with little pain or
affliction, abiding serenely in the proper state of mind. At the end I would like to
discard this body freely and be reborn quickly into a Buddha-realm, surrounded by
buddhas. I want to receive their sanction of authentic enlightenment and take form in
the Dharma realm, so that I may save all beings everywhere. 2

For a Ch'an or Zen master, an ideal death traditionally included such elements as the prior
confirmation of a successor, a last testament, a

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final poem, and the ability to pass away in the zazen posture. Daitō's determination to emulate
the deaths of his eminent predecessors was undoubtedly inspired by this ideal and by previous
hagiography. Though we cannot know which points Shunsaku may have embellished to fit the
paradigm more closely, his dramatic description seized the imagination of later generations of
Zen practitioners. At Daitokuji a bloodstained robe believed to have been Daitō's is still
brought forth on special occasions.

Three texts in Daitō's own hand, penned during his final days or final hours, are extant. One
of the documents concerned the Dharma robe Daitō had inherited from Nanpo, and another

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confirmed Tettō Gikō as Daitō's successor at Daitokuji. The third text is the master's death
poem:

I cut aside all buddhas and patriarchs,

my Mind-sword honed to a razor edge.
Activity's wheel begins to turn —
emptiness gnashes its teeth. 3

Even in appearance this verse is impressive: sixteen bold characters are perfectly spaced in
four vertical rows, on a sizable scroll one yard wide and fourteen inches high (figure 5). The
terseness of the language conveys the master's concentrated power, and each line specifies
some kind of prodigious motion — cutting, honing, turning, or gnashing. Daitō begins by
declaring that he has no further need for the sages of the past (having experienced
buddhahood himself). A further implication is that the usual distinction between
"enlightened" and "ignorant" beings no longer concerns him. The "Mind-sword" of the second
line is a free translation of "Blown-hair [Sword]," a reference to a legendary sword so sharp
that a hair blown against it would be severed instantly. A symbol of the enlightened wisdom
that cuts through delusion, this sword appears in the last line of Lin-chi's death poem: "After
the Blown-hair Sword is used, it must be quickly honed." 4 Having just used the sword to cut
aside all buddhas, Daitō too must keep it burnished — by abandoning even the notion that he
has cut off buddhas.

"Activity's wheel," in line three, was cited by Daitō thirty years earlier in the poem that
marked his satori, another momentous transition. Whenever this wheel turns, an entirely new
world is experienced. The most powerful line of the poem is the final one, "emptiness gnashes
its teeth." Daitō himself, teeth clenching in pain, is none other than emptiness. At the same
time, death is about to swallow the master whole, and yet death may be gnashing its teeth in
defeat if Daitō is truly free of fear and attachment. In this poem and in Shunsaku's account of
Daitō's death, it may appear that the master failed to achieve Ta-hui's aim of

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FIGURE 5. Daitō'S DEATH VERSE. COURTESY OF DAITOKUJI.

"abiding serenely in the proper state of mind." But an enlightened Zen master is expected to
transcend death by becoming one with it — if this is achieved, gnashing teeth may not differ
from a buddha's sublime smile.

This death poem is a provocative artifact of Daitō's eloquent Zen. Whether composed in his
final moments or prepared in advance, it shows the master upholding the conventions of his
religious tradition and his cultural milieu, in which most of life's consequential experiences
were also topics for poetry and calligraphy. The persistent influence of China can be seen in
Daitō's choice of language (kanbun) and his allusion to Ch'an master Lin-chi. Visually,
Daitō's stanza does not convey any of the messy, uncontrollable, or agonizing aspects of
death. Not only did he beautifully arrange and balance the sixteen characters of the poem; he
even included the month, his personal mark (kaō), and a brief farewell: "Take care, head
monk and congregation." 5 Ideally, a Zen master's skill in versification matched the depth of
his religious experience (and vice versa). For Daitō's heirs at least, this scroll is a crowning
emblem of Daitō's eloquent Zen, in which death is transmuted not only through insight but
also through poetry and calligraphy.

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 Daitō's Sphere of Influence

Most of Daitō's medieval and modern chroniclers depict him as a leader in the Zen world of
his period, and they suggest that Daitokuji had become a grand establishment by the time of
its founder's death. "Soon the temple compound was filled with lofty towers and imposing
gates, and Daitokuji became a major monastery," biographer Kokai exults. 6 Contemporary
scholar Ogisu Jundō contends that Daitō was recognized early in his career as one of the two
leading masters of the day, called "the two gates of sweet dew." Ogisu goes on to assert that
Daitokuji "achieved even greater prominence" during Daitō's final years, when the center of
government shifted from Kamakura to Kyoto. 7 Such claims inflate Daitō's initial
accomplishments in the public realm. When he died in 1337, Daitokuji was a middle-sized
temple, and the

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abbot's sphere of influence was commensurately limited. Unlike some of his contemporaries,
Daitō had little impact on the politics of his age. Once the Ashikaga generals triumphed, he
was unable to repudiate his association with Emperor Go-Daigo or protect his temple from an
impending reversal of fortune. In contrast, Musō managed to keep one step ahead of the
defeats of his patrons, and as a close advisor of the victorious Ashikaga, he participated
directly in national policy toward religious institutions.

Only one reported incident between Daitō and a national leader touches on political issues.
When Emperor Go-Daigo's first revolt aborted in 1331, he was forced to flee to Kasagidera in
the Nara hills. From his besieged position, the Emperor allegedly sent a messenger to Daitō to
ask, "What is the great meaning of the Buddha-Dharma?" The master replied, "When two
armies face each other, there is nothing else." 8 This exchange is so cryptic that we cannot
judge whether GoDaigo was seeking consolation, political support, or spiritual guidance.
Ogisu (writing during World War II) gives Daitō's response a bellicose interpretation: "When
two armies face each other, the deep meaning of the Buddha-Dharma is none other than
confronting the enemy's arrows and attacking head-on." 9 However Daitō's comment was
understood at the time, it probably had little impact on Go-Daigo's military plans or spiritual
development.

The fragility of Daitō's political position is underscored by an ill-fated episode involving one
of his closest disciples. Takuan's Chronicle gives the following account in an entry of 1337:

At this time the former emperor [ Go-Daigo ] had established his court at Kanao in
Yoshino. The Master [ Daitō ] dispatched head monk Ryōgi with a message for the
former emperor. The military regime had set up barrier guards and strictly regulated
travel. This was the period when National Master Musō of Tenryōji won many
converts, and he had followers within the military regime. A barrier guard said to head
monk Ryōgi, "If you pretend to be a disciple of National Master Musō, you will
escape and be allowed to pass through the barrier." Ryōgi replied, "Just to save my
life, how could I dishonor the robe and bowl [of a monk]?" In the end he extended his
neck, and it met the guard's bright sword blade. White milk flowed onto the ground. 10

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Takuan does not indicate whether Ryōgi's death had any repercussions; instead he cites
another self-sacrificing Buddhist who bled white milk. Even if Takuan's account cannot be
verified, it conveys the intensity of the discord that attended the rise of Japanese Zen.

The establishment of Myōshinji in the last year of Daitō's life is another source of information
about the nature of his influence. Coop

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erating closely with retired emperor Hanazono, Daitō arranged to have Kanzan Egen, a senior
disciple, installed as Myōshinji's resident master. Although this development confirmed
Daitō's stature as founding abbot of Daitokuji, it may also have been prompted by the friction
between the two courts: Daitō needed to strengthen his link to Hanazono once his alliance
with Go-Daigo had become a liability. Daitō's apparent success in establishing a second
monastery ironically led to a split in his lineage within a few generations (an outcome he may
even have foreseen).

Though Ogisu claims that Daitō was one of the two most famous masters of his day, an
incident in Shunsaku's Exploits inadvertently reveals the bounds of Daitō's influence within
the Zen world. Immediately after describing Daitō's death, Shunsaku states:

Ch'an master Ta-chien [ Ch'ing-cho ] was then abbot of Nanzenji. When he heard
someone recite the Master's [ Daitō's] death poem, he was surprised. "I never imagined
that such a clear-eyed Zen master was to be found in Japan!" he exclaimed. "I wanted
to meet him while he lived, but everyone resisted and I was prevented from doing so.
Now I have many regrets." He wished to attend the Master's funeral service, but he
was unable to go because he was performing prayer rituals for the court. He sent a
monk to ask the time of the service, and as soon as the monk returned, he made a
public announcement. Thereupon he led the assembly to the front gate of Nanzenji,
chanting sutras, and he sent two personal attendants to present some incense in
memorium. 11

The èmigrè Chinese master Ch'ing-cho Cheng-ch'eng ( Ta-chien, 1274-1339) was abbot of a
major monastery across town from Daitokuji. His inability to meet Daitō or attend Daitō's
funeral probably stemmed from political considerations — a Nanzenji abbot could not risk the
appearance of support for a temple closely identified with Go- Daigo, and Daitō's prestige
was not sufficient to override the factionalism of the day. Moreover, Ch'ing-cho's surprise
upon hearing Daitō's death poem — "I never imagined that such a clear-eyed Zen master was
to be found in Japan!" — hardly conveys the impression that Daitō's accomplishments were
widely recognized in Zen circles.

Still, Shunsaku's primary intention in citing a Ch'an master's praise was to exalt Daitō, and
Ch'ing-cho's reaction is in accord with a principal theme of the present study: Daitō was
indeed one of the first Japanese monks to reach the level of his eminent Chinese predecessors
in his mastery of Zen and Zen expression. The unquestioned assumption that Ch'ing-cho
would have been able to make such a judgment after hearing a poem of sixteen words is
evidence of the conviction that Zen realization can be conveyed through language, and
especially through poetry.

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Another important index of Daitō's immediate impact is the state of Daitokuji during his last
years. Though the historical materials are far from complete, they enable us to assess three
related topics: the temple compound, provincial landholdings, and the monastic population. In
1333 Go-Daigo confirmed the Kyoto precincts of Daitokuji, an area slightly over twelve
acres. Though this was more than enough land to support a large-scale monastery, only two
important buildings are known to have been erected during Daitō's tenure as abbot. One was
the Dharma hall, inaugurated in 1326, and the other was the abbot's residence, which the
Tendai abbot Gen'e allegedly donated. Ordinarily, a hall or pagoda dedicated to the founder
would be added soon after his death, but Daitō specifically forbade such a memorial: "After I
have gone, place my bones in the abbot's quarters. Do not build a separate memorial pagoda. I
have my reasons, and I trust you to honor this request." 12 Accordingly, no founder's hall was
ever built, and Daitō's memorial alcove, called Unmon-an, is still located within the
traditional abbot's residence. Daitō's successor, Tettō, added a Buddha hall and the first
Daitokuji subtemple, Tokuzenji. Most of Daitokuji's early architecture was destroyed by fire
in the mid-fifteenth century, and the origins of other structures such as the main gate or the
monks' hall cannot be determined. Compared to the major monasteries of Kyoto and
Kamakura (and to its own later magnificence), the Daitokuji of Daitō's day must have been a
relatively humble temple, its uncluttered compound surrounded by farmers' fields and quiet
woods.

At Daitō's death the provincial landholdings of Daitokuji were impressive, at least on paper.
Six of its revenue-producing estates enjoyed full immunity from intervention by local
officials. When GoDaigo issued his spate of decrees during the Kenmu Restoration, he
inflated the temple's official income to 7,600 koku (a measure of rice by volume), capable of
supporting two thousand monks. 13 This figure approaches the wealth of the largest Gozan
temples at the height of their prestige; for example, Tenryōji received about 8,000 koku from
its taxable domains in 1386. 14 However, Daitokuji never actualized the potential windfall
from its patrons' grants: when Go-Daigo fell from power the year before Daitō's death, the
temple's fortunes plummeted, and it was unable to enforce its claims. Thirty-five years later,
its official income had declined by more than 80 percent, to a mere 433 koku. 15

Without reliable records it is difficult to estimate the monastic population of Daitokuji during
Daitō's last years. The biographers supply no figures, though Kokai claims that "students
gathered in great numbers to hear the Master's teaching," and "monks ran to the Master from
all directions." 16 The presence of a respected and charismatic teacher plus the glamor of
patronage from two emperors undoubtedly attracted many aspiring disciples. A number does
appear in Go-Daigo's 1333

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decree, when he praises Daitokuji's "thousand monks [who] live in peace," but that is
language appropriate to proclamations. 17 At one point in the Record of Daitō a monk asks
Daitō to address the "seventy Zen Buddhists" in attendance. " 18 Though no registers of monks
remain from Daitō's time, his heir Tettō was a conscientious record keeper. Around 1368
Tettō listed the names of the monks at Daitokuji and two of its subtemples: Daitokuji had 180
monks, Shōden-an had 24, and Tokuzenji had 14. Because the names of most of the
subtemple monks are duplicated on Daitokuji's list, the actual total is 191 monks. 19 These
figures also suggest the extent of the monastic congregation that Daitō led, since the dual loss
of Daitō's presence and Go-Daigo's patronage may well have been offset by Tettō's
reinforcement of the temple's central and provincial organization. A community of about two

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hundred monks would have placed Daitokuji in the middle rank of Zen institutions: there
were countless smaller temples, but half a dozen well-established monasteries had one
thousand to two thousand residents. 20 Musō is said to have administered the precepts to a
throng of 2,500 disciples just before his death in 1351. 21

Destiny of a Zen Patriarch

Daitō's destiny as a Zen patriarch is complex: he continued to act upon history, and history
continued to act upon him. His impact after his death in many respects exceeds his influence
during his lifetime, a phenomenon that owes much to the eventual triumph of his religious
descendants over all other lines of Japanese Rinzai Zen. Daitō was elevated to patriarchal
status by his heirs, who enhanced his image consciously and unconsciously.

The dying master left Daitokuji in the hands of Tettō Gikō, his disciple during the years of
obscurity at Ungo-an and the head monk of Daitokuji since its inauguration. Tettō, an able
and energetic administrator, served as abbot for thirty-one years. He persuaded several
wellknown nobles and warriors to become personal disciples and temple patrons, stabilizing
Daitokuji during a period of political and economic adversity. Tettō was so fervent in the
guidance of his monks that he once threatened to cut off his own tongue unless someone
attained kenshō during a ninety-day training session. Midway through the term Gongai Sōchō
( 1315-1390) came to enlightenment, and Gongai later became Tettō's principal successor. 22

The disciple Daitō selected to be the first abbot of Myōshinji, Kanzan Egen, had joined him in
1329, late in the Zen careers of both men (Kanzan was five years older than Daitō). Two
decades earlier they had briefly been fellow students of Nanpo. Under Daitō's guidance,
Kanzan achieved satori through Yün-men's "Barrier," the same koan that

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had precipitated Daitō's enlightenment. At Myōshinji, Kanzan's bestknown patron and

follower was former emperor Hanazono, who maintained a residence on the temple grounds
until his death in 1348. No written records of Kanzan's teachings remain. The claim that "he
never lectured" 23 may be based on fact, or his discourse record may have been destroyed by
fire.

Kanzan had only one Dharma heir, Juō Sōhitsu ( 1296-1380). Yet it was Kanzan's branch, not
Tettō's, that ensured the survival of Daitō's lineage. The Ōtōkan lineage that represents the
mainstream of presentday Rinzai Zen takes its name from Daiō ( Nanpo), Daitō, and Kanzan.
The term itself is relatively late and of uncertain origin; scholars trace it to a period that
begins with Gudō ( 1577-1661) and ends with Hakuin ( 1686-1769). During these years of
Myōshinji's ascendancy and its rivalry with Daitokuji, a spurious "Final Admonitions" was
attributed to Kanzan, and he was called a reincarnation of Yün-men (as Daitō had been
identified). Kanzan continues to be honored for certain koans he favored, for the austerity of
his way of life, and for his devotion to his two masters, Nanpo and Daitō. According to a
Rinzai Zen adage, Daitō "left the temple to Daitokuji but the school to Myōshinji." 24

For nearly a century and a half after Daitō's death, Japanese Zen was dominated by the Gozan,
or "Five Mountains," network. The temples within this system were divided into three tiers,
and rankings were adjusted periodically to reflect shifts in patronage or prestige. During the

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first half of the fourteenth century, enrollments in Gozan temples increased sharply, and by
the early fifteenth century the institution embraced about three hundred active monasteries. As
Martin Collcutt has written,

The gozan was certainly the most socially influential, economically powerful sector of
medieval Zen. Moreover, the fully articulated gozan network spread from Kyoto and
Kamakura throughout all the provinces of Japan, and gozan monasteries served as
centers for the introduction and diffusion not only of Zen Buddhism but also of
Chinese learning and culture, contributing inestimably to the enrichment of medieval
intellectual and cultural life. 25

For political and sectarian reasons, Daitokuji and Myōshinji were denied the benefits of
Gozan affiliation. In 1334, before the ascension of the Ashikaga, Go-Daigo had placed
Daitokuji at the apex of the Gozan, but it enjoyed this honor for only a few years. It did not
appear again in the Gozan rankings until 1386, having fallen to the ninth position of the
second tier (tenth and last was Ryōshōji, a Daitokuji branch temple). Daitokuji apparently
retained this lowly status until 1431, when it withdrew completely from the Gozan system.
Myōshinji, labeled as a rinka

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("under the forest") temple, was consistently excluded from all three tiers.

In contrast to the prosperity of the major Gozan monasteries, Daitokuji thus endured relative
austerity for at least a century after Daitō's death. It lost four of its six provincial estates
between 1334 and 1371, and its annual income fell to a mere 6 percent of the revenue
collected by leading temples such as Tenryōji. 26 Budgetary constraints affected nearly every
aspect of life at Daitokuji, from the maintenance of monastery buildings to the conduct of
ceremonies. Myōshinji, no wealthier than Daitokuji, suffered a severe political reversal in
1399, when its abbot was accused of conspiring with the rebel warrior ōuchi Yoshihiro
( 1356-1399). The irate shogun, Ashikaga Yoshimitsu, confiscated all of Myōshinji's Kyoto
and provincial lands, changed the temple's name, and dispersed its monks. Barely forty years
after Kanzan's death, this branch of Daitō's lineage was almost snuffed out.

It was during this low ebb in the fortunes of Daitō's descendants that the Daitokuji monk
Shunsaku Zenkō began to compile the first biography of the former master. He completed his
Exploits of National Master Daitō in 1426. As we have seen, this work portrayed its subject
as a spiritual hero whose life was marked by extraordinary events, and it decisively shaped
posterity's image of the master. According to Shunsaku, miraculous portents accompanied
Daitō's conception and birth, and he was precociously insightful as a child. Daitō consistently
impressed his teachers, inviting comparisons with Ch'an master Yōn-men and prompting
predictions of future success. This first biography also emphasized Daitō's patronage by two
emperors, highlighting their proclamations, their conversations with the master, and the titles
they gave him. As abbot of Daitokuji, "the Master had the majesty of a king, and people
hesitated to approach him." 27 Shunsaku's memorable account of Daitō's death, completing the
Ch'an/Zen paradigm of sacred biography, reinforced Daitō's elevation to patriarchal status.

A generation later, Ikkyū Sōjun became the first of several influential masters to contribute
significantly to Daitō's reputation. Ikkyū, a member of Tettō's line, felt that he alone grasped
the true spirit of Daitō's Zen. He called himself "Daitō's descendant" during a period of

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intensified rivalry between the lineages of Musō, Enni, Tettō, and Kanzan. A prolific poet,
Ikkyū answered each of Daitō's "three turning words" in verse, and he composed quatrains in
praise of Daitō, Tettō, Nanpo, and Hsü-t'ang. When Daitokuji was threatened by political
turmoil and fire around the time of the Ōnin War (1467-1477), Ikkyū personally protected
Daitō's calligraphy and other treasured items. As we have seen, he criticized biographer
Shunsaku for his preoccupation with Daitō's imperial connections:

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Holding aloft this Great Lamp would illuminate heaven.

Imperial carriages jostled before the Dharma hall
but no one recorded his life of wind and water
for twenty years at the Gojō Bridge. 28

Ikkyū was the first to stress the Gojō Bridge story and may even have initiated it. His
uncommon perception of Daitō was promptly rejected by Yōsō Sōi, presiding abbot of
Daitokuji, who declared, "What need is there to speak of cold and hunger in the records of our
former master's life?" 29 Ikkyū and Yōsō openly clashed on many issues, so it is hard to gauge
the seriousness of this particular disagreement about Daitō's status as insider or outsider.
Ikkyū, who set himself apart from the religious institutions of his day, understandably linked
Daitō's years of obscurity and hardship to the authenticity of Daitō's Zen.

With new support from ascendant warriors and prosperous merchants, Daitokuji began to
recover during Ikkyū's lifetime. Its link with the imperial family survived, and the
involvement of poets and tea masters soon made the temple a center of contemporary culture.
In the sixteenth century the country was torn by internal wars that weakened the authority of
the Ashikaga regime and the Gozan system it sponsored. By the time Japan was reunified in
1603, Daitokuji and Myōshinji were as wealthy and influential as any of the Gozan
monasteries. Daitokuji was lavishly patronized by the second of Japan's "three unifiers,"
Toyotomi Hideyoshi ( 1536-1598), who regularly visited the temple to participate in tea
ceremonies. Myōshinji, meanwhile, had found other sources of strength: exemplary fiscal
management, a network of provincial branch temples, and increasing popularity among lay
believers. Myōshinji gained control of at least fifty monasteries formerly affiliated with the
Gozan, and it eventually became the headquarters of the largest branch of Rinzai Zen.

Daitō's descendants continued to honor his memory in their training, their ceremonies, and
their writings. Takuan Sōhō, the 154th abbot of Daitokuji and one of the most influential
masters of the seventeenth century, produced the second biography of Daitō, adding dates and
new material to the earlier account by Shunsaku. The Kanbun era of 1661- 1673 marked the
peak of Daitokuji's prosperity. Not only was the main temple replete with architecturally
distinguished gates and halls, but each of the twenty-four subtemples boasted its own
configuration of elegant buildings and meticulous gardens. The abundant paintings, ceramics,
tea utensils, altar figures, screens, and calligraphic scrolls that Daitokuji accumulated over the
centuries are among Japan's most valued artistic treasures. The temple's Zen gardens
epitomize the best of the genre, and its tea rooms are prized as the fountainhead of the
Japanese tea ceremony.

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The most influential assessment of Daitō was made by the eighteenth-century Zen master
Hakuin Ekaku, traditionally ranked beside Dōgen at the pinnacle of Japanese Zen. Hakuin is
hailed for restoring the spiritual vitality of the Rinzai sect through his emphasis on rigorous
monastic training, his organization of the koan system, and his reaffirmation of kenshō as the
focus of the Zen life. Like Ikkyū centuries earlier, Hakuin believed that he had a uniquely
intimate understanding of Daitō. The accounts of Daitō's life as a beggar impressed Hakuin
deeply, perhaps because he was somewhat of an outsider himself. Hakuin's small country
temple was located far from the Kyoto headquarters of his Myōshinji lineage.

A gifted painter with a bold and untutored style, Hakuin produced portraits of Daitō as a
bearded and barefoot mendicant, his robe tattered but his gaze fiercely alive. The inscription
on one of these portraits (figure 2 in Chapter 3) alludes to the story of Daitō's discovery by
Emperor Hanazono:

Wearing a straw mat among the beggars,

through his greed for sweet melons
he's been taken alive. 30

The second line of this verse also suggests the intensity of Daitō's spiritual aspiration, which
led to his "capture" by the world of enlightenment. In other works Hakuin related the ideal of
unworldliness, as represented by Daitō's poverty, to genuine Zen:

None of the patriarchal teachers had any taste for fine imposing monastery halls and
pavilions. They placed no value at all on the enthusiastic acclaim of the crowd. They
passed their days in rude cave dwellings, boiling vegetable roots in broken pots to
sustain themselves. They were bent only on repaying their profound debt to the
buddhas and patriarchs, and on passing some syllable of enlightened utterance along to
trouble future generations. 31

In this passage we can hear echoes of Daitō's "Final Admonitions," a text Hakuin often
transcribed.

Hakuin did not hesitate to add new episodes to the Daitō legends in order to communicate his
sense of the master's character and insight. In an autobiographical work called Wild Ivy
(Itsumadegusa), Hakuin tells a lively tale not found in earlier sources:

And what about Myōchō's [ Daitō's] life of self-denial on the banks of the Kamo
River? Each night, in order to test the strength of his religious purpose, he went to the
neighborhood of the Shijō [Gojō] Bridge and sat in zazen on a seat of grass. At the
time, the young ruffians of the capital were a particular menace. Gathering in groups
of three or four, they would begin arguing the merits of the swords they

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carried; then, to test their weapons, they would proceed to the broad banks of the
Kamo River and dash around cutting down the hapless beggars and outcasts whom
they found there. Great numbers fell victim to their blades.

A band of these scoundrels stole unperceived into the area near the Shijō Bridge and
came upon Myōchō meditating on his grass seat. He seemed an ideal victim. "I'll strike

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 the first blow with my long sword," one of them called out. "You can take your turns
next." The villains pressed toward the seated figure, threatening him this way and that
with raised weapons.

But Myōchō showed not the slightest sign of fear. He just sat, bolt upright, with a calm
and blissful unconcern. Then one of the ruffians paused, looked long and hard at him,
and all at once pressed his palms together in veneration. "Even if we did cause the
death of this excellent priest, it wouldn't really prove the sharpness of our blades," he
said. "And think what terrible karma such an act would bring upon us!" With that, they
dropped their swords and fled.

Myōchō later wrote a poem:

Hardships still come

one upon another —
now I'll see if my mind
truly has cast off
this world.

The story which occasioned these lines should inspire people for a thousand years.
Myōchō's establishment of the illustrious Daitokuji and the enduring brilliance of his
radiant virtue are consequences of the hard, merciless perseverence of his practice. 32

The text considered to be Hakuin's foremost work is an extensive interlinear commentary on

the first two volumes of the Record of Daitō, fancifully entitled Tales from the Land of
Locust-Tree Tranquility (Kaiankokugo). Hakuin acknowledged the difficulty of Daitō's
Record, calling it "a huge mass of fiery flames," and he insisted that it could truly be
fathomed only after one had resolved seven cardinal koans, including Yün- men's "Barrier"
and Daitō's own "three turning words." 33 Hakuin commented on Daitō's Record using
thousands of colorful capping phrases and richly allusive capping verses, freely mixing
original material with quotations from the religious and secular literature of East Asia. The
resulting work, immensely challenging for monks and scholars alike, is esteemed as one of
the crowning achievements of Japanese Rinzai Zen: "To this day nothing has surpassed it,"
writes Yanagida Seizan. 34 For the past two hundred years Daitō has largely been perceived
through the eyes of Hakuin, whose vivid imagery and selfassured commentary yielded the
decisive interpretation of Daitō's life and teachings.

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One further dimension of Daitō's patriarchal rank is his reputation as one of the outstanding
calligraphers of Japan. In Zen, a work of calligraphy is regarded as an intimate expression of
the writer's personality and awareness, analogous to a snapshot of the mind. Daitō's distinctive
style fuses vigor and elegance. Connoisseurs, searching for a comparison, mention Huang
T'ing-chien ( 1045-1105), an eminent Chinese calligrapher who preceded Daitō by two
centuries. In Japan, most of Daitō's calligraphic pieces have been designated as "national
treasures" or "important cultural properties," and his work is regularly featured in books,
journals, and exhibitions. 35 Daitokuji's collection of Zen calligraphy, augmented by several of
Daitō's successors, has been called "one of the finest in existence." 36 As a synthesis of Zen
experience, language, and art, Daitō's calligraphy epitomizes his eloquent Zen.

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 Daitō and Contemporary Zen

Today Daitokuji is one of the fifteen headquarter temples of the Rinzai sect. Its nationwide
organization embraces two active monasteries (in Kyoto and Fukuoka, Kyushu), about 200
branch temples, and over 50,000 adherents. In institutional terms, Daitokuji is surpassed by
Myōshinji, which has reported 3,421 branch temples and 847,700 adherents. 37 Daitō's legacy
survives not only in the monks' halls of Daitokuji and Myōshinji, but also in Rinzai
monasteries throughout the country. Most Rinzai monks recite Daitō's "Final Admonitions"
daily, before their master's Dharma lecture or at the end of the day. The importance of
postenlightenment training is often associated with Daitō and the twenty years he allegedly
spent among the beggars of Kyoto. Standard koan collections include Daitō's "three turning
words," two encounter dialogues from his Record, 38 and the following conundrum:

Daitō Kokushi is called the reincarnation of Yün-men, but they were separated by
several hundred years. What was he doing all that time? 39

The capping-phrase exercise has become an integral part of Rinzai monastic training, though
there is little correlation between Daitō's phrases and those now in use. (Despite the
pioneering role of Daitō's capping-phrase commentaries, they are known only by a few
scholars and Daitokuji abbots.) In the current system, students working on koans consult the
master in a private encounter known as sanzen. During intensive training periods (sesshin),
participants may be required to confront the master four or five times a day. When a
practitioner has answered an assigned koan to the master's satisfaction, he or she must then
express the spirit of that koan with a suitable phrase or verse taken from one of the standard
capping-phrase collections. Though the cap

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ping phrases themselves are not secret, their application as koan answers is strictly guarded by
the various Rinzai lineages.

In anticipation of the next encounter with the master, the student uses every spare moment to
pore over pocket-sized editions of the capping-phrase anthologies, a task that must be handled
discreetly in the monastery (where reading is discouraged). At each subsequent sanzen a
different phrase or verse is offered until one of them wins the master's approval. Difficulties
may be encountered at any point of the process: a koan that was solved with relative ease may
be hard to cap, or an unusually obstinate koan, once solved, will be capped effortlessly. When
multiple capping phrases are required for a given koan, the first few may be found quickly,
but those that remain may seem to defy discovery. Unearthing a made-to-order phrase or
verse usually elicits an "aha!" from the student that the teacher then validates. Ideally, an apt
capping phrase will shed new light on the koan and/or stimulate new questions to be
pondered. At times, however, the traditional answer expected by the master, once discovered,
may strike the practitioner as inferior to previous choices that the master rejected.

In later stages of training, most koans are divided into parts, each of which requires an answer
and (usually) a capping phrase. For example, the koan known as "Lin-chi's Four
Classifications" divides naturally into four segments:

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 To take away the man and not take away the surroundings.
To take away the surroundings and not take away the man.
To take away both the man and the surroundings.
To take away neither the man nor the surroundings. 40

When Daitō commented on this koan, he added only one capping phrase to each of the four
lines (case 8 in the following chapter). At Daitokuji today, the capping-phrase exercise is
more structured and more complex. For each line of this koan a monk must select six or seven
capping phrases of various kinds, in a specified sequence. Then he must find one final phrase
that caps the koan in its entirety. Other koans are divided and capped in a similar manner; an
especially complicated one may require as many as fifty different phrases. Monks who remain
in the monastery long enough to approach the end of the formal course of training also use
capping phrases in written commentaries on koans. Often these essays are composed in
kanbun and transcribed with a brush.

However tenuous the historical links between Daitō's use of capping phrases and the
contemporary system, a comparison is revealing. Whereas Daitō created his own phrases or
quoted material from a wide range of sources, practitioners are now limited to the phrases and
verses

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that appear in the standard collections. Whereas Daitō varied his responses to a koan or a text
each time he encountered it, tradition now specifies which answers are acceptable. Daitō
actually marks a midpoint in the gradual formalization of the genre. While most of Yüan-wu's
comments were inventive and colloquial, Daitō already exhibits the Japanese penchant for
quoting other sources, especially if they have literary merit. The frequency of Chinese poetic
couplets confirms this trend: Yüan-wu disregarded them, Daitō cited them occasionally, and
the modern capping-phrase corpus is dominated by them. 41

Within the Daitokuji compound, on the twenty-second day of each month, the current abbots
of the twenty-four subtemples assemble for a memorial service in honor of their founder. The
ceremony begins with the chanting of invocations and sutras in the Buddha hall, and then the
abbots proceed to Daitō's memorial alcove in the traditional abbot's quarters. There they place
flowers, green tea, and other offerings before a life-size wooden effigy of the master. In
November of each year this service is performed publicly in the Dharma hall. 42 Those in
attendance include a representative of the imperial family, prominent tea masters, dozens of
abbots from other temples, and all the monks of Daitokuji and Myōshinji.

Fifty-year anniversaries of Daitō's death are commemorated with even greater pomp and
solemnity. The week-long 650th anniversary, held in May 1983, drew over three thousand
guests from around the country. 43 Daitō's effigy was moved to a towering dais in the brightly
bannered Dharma hall, where scores of tonsured abbots in ornate robes performed nine
separate memorial services. Emperor Shōwa ( 1901- 1989) sent a personal donation and
formally granted Daitō another posthumous title. 44 A new woodblock edition of the Record
of Daitō, a replica of the 1621 printing, was distributed to selected guests. Two major
publishing projects also commemorated the event: a three-volume collection of Daitokuji's
calligraphic treasures and a multivolume compilation of the discourse records of Daitokuji's
leading abbots. 45

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 Almost the Same Path!

Soon after he attained enlightenment, Daitō rushed to his teacher Nanpo and exclaimed,
"Almost the same path!" 46 That capping phrase can also be generalized to apply to the
Japanese reception of Ch'an and to Daitō's place in the transmission process. "Almost the
same path!" has the polysemous quality of most capping phrases, in part because the original
kanbun lacks a stated subject or a clear referent for the word "same." As a consequence, the
phrase continues to resonate meaningfully even in broader contexts.

When he experienced enlightenment, Daitō had been struggling with

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Yün-men's answer, "Barrier," the kernel of the koan " Ts'ui-yen's Eyebrows." In that light, one
way of expanding Daitō's original phrase would be as follows: "My path is almost the same as
Yün-men's path." Daitō may also be pointing beyond Yōn-men to the entire lineage of Ch'an
masters, and since he is addressing Nanpo, his statement can also mean "My path is almost
the same path as yours." (These variations are of course compatible.) The word "almost"
introduces additional interpretive possibilities. If Daitō is refusing to place himself on the
same level as his spiritual predecessors, "almost" could indicate humility. Or, it may actually
signify its opposite — a claim by Daitō that his enlightenment is exactly the same as the
enlightenment of C'an masters such as Yün-men. In Zen, "as soon as you call it something,
you've already missed the mark," so if Daitō had said, "Exactly the same path!" he would only
have been close.

Viewed from yet another angle, Daitō may be saying, "I almost took the same path as my
predecessors. How fortunate that I did not!" In that case, he is asserting that one must find
one's own way to realization; to follow Yōn-men or any other predecessor is to go astray.
Yün- men is Yün-men, and Daitō is Daitō; whatever the similarities between any two
individuals, each has his or her own path. In its original context, therefore, Daitō's initial
response to his own enlightenment may reflect a spirit of humility, confidence, independence,
or even all three at once.

Moreover, each of these senses of "Almost the same path!" caps Daitō's life as well as his
enlightenment. In terms of the spark of spiritual continuity that is believed to transcend
differences of history and culture, Daitō may indeed have walked the way of his Buddhist
forebears. Japanese Zen was not quite the same path as Chinese Ch'an — socially,
institutionally, or doctrinally — yet it was a legitimate heir of the parent tradition, authentic
and vital on its own terms. In the posture of humility suggested by "almost," Daitō
consciously struggled to master the language and forms of Ch'an, aware that the roots of a
Japanese Zen were not yet deep in his native soil. In a posture of confidence ("almost" as
"exactly"), he treated the history of Ch'an as his own religious history, acknowledging himself
as a worthy descendant of this unitary lineage. And in a posture of independence (avoiding
the error of imitation), Daitō eloquently articulated his own vision of authentic Zen.
Eventually, the path he forged became the main highway of the Japanese Rinzai tradition.

As for Daitō the man, after the passage of nearly seven centuries certain features will
inevitably remain in shadow. We have seen how historical and religious truth are conjoined in

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the accounts of his life. Most of the traditional descriptions of Daitō encountered in these
pages

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reveal as much about the prevailing ideal for Zen masters as they reveal about Daitō. Emperor
Go-Daigo, who knew the master personally, nonetheless claimed that his "severe and awe-
inspiring manner made it impossible for anyone to approach him." 47 Later portrayals by
Daitokuji monks were even more grandiose: "His eyes scanned the universe, and his mouth
swallowed buddhas and patriarchs. With thunderclap shouts and a rain of blows, he rattled the
heavens and split the earth." 48 Assessments by modern scholars have been suggestive but
spare. Daitō's impressive mastery of the Chinese language prompts Haga Kōshirō to call him
a "genius." 49 Ogisu Jundō, citing Shunsaku's hagiographic description of the infant Daitō,
argues that the master's character was "different from that of ordinary people even at birth." 50
Hirano Sōjō sees "two paradoxical aspects" of Daitō — his preference for seclusion and his
eagerness to promote Daitokuji. Though this analysis is plausible, the career of Musō Soseki
has been described in exactly the same terms. 51 Furuta Shōkin attempts a comparison of Daitō
and Musō based on their calligraphy: "Musō's brushwork is pliable and conscientious,
whereas Daitō's is vigorous and unaffected.... The two men were direct opposites." 52

Some commentators have extrapolated from a well-known portrait of Daitō at age fifty-three
(figure 6). In that work he is sitting cross-legged on a delicate Chinese chair, dressed in the
formal robes of an abbot, his stocky body massively composed. The master's broad face is
softened by rounded cheeks and rosy lips, and he is glancing off to his left. The inscription, by
Daitō himself, challenges each viewer: "Who has been painted here on this new silk? Look!"
53
In the fifteenth century Ikkyū responded to this painting with admiration:

Even his portrait shines openly,

brilliant as a hundred million Sumerus.
If Te-shan or Lin-chi were to enter here,
they'd be fireflies before the sun. 54

Viewing this same portrait centuries later, Hirano sees the look on Daitō's face as troubled, an
expression that Hirano attributes to the competition between the master's two imperial
patrons. To Furuta, however, the painting clearly conveys Daitō's indomitable will power. 55 If
Daitō the man continues to elude capture, it may be for the best. As Shin'ei Sōetsu ( 1691-
1775) wrote in a postscript to one of the master's early biographies,

Why shoot the arrow

after the robber has already left?
The empty sky claps its hands
and shouts "Enough!" 56

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Selected Poems by Daitō

Sources for the following poems are indicated in the notes, according to the number at the left
of the title. Titles have been added or modified for clarity.

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1
Pilgrimage
The moon and the sun my sandals,
I'm journeying above heaven and earth.
2
Rain
No umbrella, getting soaked,
I'll just use the rain as my raincoat.
3
Leaving Kyushu
No footprints of mine are seen wherever I wander:
on a tip of a hair I left the capital,
on three drum taps I am leaving Kyushu.

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4
Shakyamuni Is Called

Sōuddha-āvāsa, hands palm-to-palm, appears at the window.

Full moon in the palace pond a gem though it's not yet autumn;
this quiet night he knows the ripples have changed.
From here he'll walk the path as if deluded,
huge Dantaloka Mountain hard as iron.
5
Zazen
How boring to sit idly on the floor,
not meditating, not breaking through.
Look at the horses racing along the Kamo River!
That's zazen!
6
Through the Clouds
Penetrating the clouds to the sky beyond,
even on a rainy night I see the moon.
7
Enlightenment (I)
I've broken through Cloud Barrier— the living way is north south east and west.
Evenings I rest, mornings I play,
no other no self.
With each step a pure breeze rises.
8
Enlightenment (II)
Cloud Barrier pierced, the old path's gone—
clear sky bright sun my true home.
Activity's wheel turns freely beyond men.
Golden Kāōyapa departs,
hands clasped on his chest.
9
Shakyamuni's Great Awakening
One glance at the morning star, and the snow got even whiter.
The look in his eye chills hair and bones.

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If earth itself hadn't experienced this instant,

Old Shakyamuni never would have appeared.
10
Te-shan Summons Kao-t'ing

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When Te-shan was leaving the Yangtze, he summoned Kao-t'ing. Kaot'ing left Heng-ch'ō.

Te-shan's invitation is
one two three four five six seven
and eight nine ten,
Kao-t'ing's departure is
ten nine eight seven six five four
and three two one.
11
Great Activity, Great Function
If you clutch Mt. Sumeru and smash it to pieces,
emptiness will break in two, three, four.
If you swallow the great ocean then vomit it up,
buddhas in the three worlds will flounder and drown.
12
Spring
The spring hills are blue,
the spring waters green,
the spring clouds are scattered,
the spring birds chirp ceaselessly.
13
What's Your Name?

Yang-shan asked San-sheng, "What is your name?" San-sheng said, "Hui-chi." Yang-shan
said, "Hui-chi? That's me." San-sheng said, "My name is Hui-jan." Yang-shan laughed aloud.

Where did he go?

Sun melts the early spring snow,

willows and plum trees vie for the freshest smell.
Every scene inspires innumerable poems,
but I seek the lines of just one man, off on his own.

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14
No Dharmas

P'an-shan instructed, "There are no dharmas in the three realms; where can mind be sought?"

Rain clears from distant peaks, dew glistens frostily.

Moonlight glazes the front of my ivied hut among the pines.
How can I tell you how I am, right now?
A swollen brook gushes in the valley darkened by clouds.
15
The Summit of Wonder Peak

Once when Pao-fu and Ch'ang-ch'ing were strolling in the mountains, Pao-fu pointed with his
hand and said, "Right here is the summit of Wonder Peak." Ch'ang-ch'ing said, "Indeed it is,
but what a shame!" Hsüeh-tou comments: "Today what's the purpose of strolling in the
mountains with this fellow?" Hsüeh-tou again comments: "Hundreds of thousands of years
hence, I don't say there will not be any, just that there will be few." Later this [original
incident] was quoted to Ching- ch'ing, who said, "If it hadn't been for Mr. Sun ( Ch'ang-ch'ing

149
], then you would have seen skulls all over the fields."

The lone tip of Wonder Peak is beyond any climber's reach.

One can only see white clouds drifting this way and that.
Thick pine and cypress forests—how old could they be?
Still, in rare moments birds along the steep cliffs sing.
16
Buddhas
Nan-ch'üan said, "I don't know anything about buddhas in the three worlds."
If he had known buddhas exist
in the three worlds,
suddenly no spring flowers,
no full moon in the fall.
17
An Ancient Buddha and a Bare Pillar
Yün-men said to the assembled monks, "The ancient Buddha is merg- ing with the bare pillar.
What level of activity is that?" Answering for the monks, he said, "When clouds gather on
South Mountain, rain falls on North Mountain."

-189-

Ablaze in Buddha's light, what level of activity?

Few people know what lies behind clouds on South Mountain.
At dusk, woodcutters follow the path into the valley,
singing, "We're on our way home, on our way home."
18
Fox-words
"Delusion," "enlightenment"—
just fox-words fooling
Zen monks everywhere.
19
The Leaves of the Sutras

After the Buddha's passing, Kāōyapa announced to the assembled monks, "The Buddha has
now been cremated. His adamantine relicbones are not our concern. We must compile a
record of the authentic Dharma teachings so that they are not lost."

Cut in thirds, split in half, how can truth be expressed?

Can one see beyond white clouds with the naked eye?
The monks still have not come back from Mt. Kukkutapāda.
The leaves of the sutras merely stir a sad wind.
20
Snow in a Silver Bowl

A monk asked Pa-ling, "What is the school of Āryadeva?" Pa-ling said, "Snow piled in a
silver bowl."

The school of Āryadeva is so hard to analyze.

Snow piled up in a silver bowl—who could have said it better than that?
The same wind blows across earth, mountains, rivers;
it leaves all human and heavenly realms refreshed, pure.
21
Nan-ch'üan Cuts the Cat
Holding up a cat for everyone to see,
cutting it one, two, three—

150
a hammer head without a hole.
22
Huang Ch'ao's Sword
Yen-t'ou asked a monk, "Where have you come from?" The monk said, "I've come from the
Western Capital [Ch'ang-an]." Yen-t'ou

-190-

said, "After Huang Ch'ao left, were you able to get the sword?" The monk said, "I got it."
Yen-t'ou extended his neck toward the monk and shouted. The monk said, "Your head has
fallen, Master." Yen-t'ou laughed loudly. Later the monk called upon Hsüeh-feng. Hsüeh-
feng asked, "Where have you come from?" The monk said, "From Yent'ou." Hsüeh-feng
asked, "What did he say?" The monk told the preceding story. Hsüeh-feng hit him thirty times
and drove him away.
Once Huang Ch'ao has left, that sword is hard to find.
Waving it around, the monk cut his own hands—pitiful!
If he hadn't been hit thirty times with a gnarled staff
the whole world would have been soaked with blood.
23
Chao-chou's Sandal

Chao-chou removed his sandal and put it on his head.

Chao-chou crowns himself with a sandal—

three, two, one, heaven becomes earth,
earth becomes heaven.
24
The Kalpa Fire

A monk asked Ta-sui, "In the roar of the kalpa fire, the whole universe is destroyed. Tell me,
is This destroyed?" Ta-sui said, "Destroyed." The monk said, "Then [This] will go along with
[the destruction of the universe]?" Ta-sui said, "It goes along with it."

It perishes in the kalpa fire and can't be recovered.

This monk, going back and forth from distant Szechuan,
sees the equality of a thousand worlds.
That radiant old Buddha Ta-sui opens his mouth and laughs.
25
Recovery
It's over, the "buddhas and patriarchs" disease
that once gripped my chest.
Now I'm just an ordinary man
with a clean slate.
26
Tattered Sleeve
So many years of begging,
this robe's old and torn;

-191-

tattered sleeve chases a cloud.

Beyond the gate, just grass.
27
Facing Death
I cut aside all buddhas and patriarchs,
my Mind-sword honed to a razor edge.

151
 Activity's wheel begins to turn—
emptiness gnashes its teeth.
28
Falling into Hell
Who is falling alive into hell?
Lin-chi shouts "Ho!"
Te-shan hits you!
29
Here I Am
No form, no sound—
here I am;
white clouds fringing the peaks,
river cutting through the valley.

Daitō's Capping-Phrase Commentaries: Twenty Cases

The following selections are from two of Daitō's written cappingphrase commentaries: One
Hundred Twenty Cases (Hyakunijussoku) and Capping Phrases on the Blue Cliff Record
(Hekigan agyo). 30 The cases are presented in order of increasing structural complexity. Case
1 is a single sentence with a single capping phrase. Case 4 is the first instance of multiple
capping phrases: Daitō gives three responses to one question. Interlinear capping phrases
begin with case 6, and the capping phrases in all remaining cases are interlinear. Cases 9
through 15 are dialogues between two persons; in case 16 the number of protagonists jumps to
four. Case 18 is a complicated koan with two capping phrases by Hsüeh-tou already
embedded in it. In case 20 a monk has two separate dialogues with two different masters.

Three of the koans to follow played a role in Daitō's early Zen training. They are "A Dying
Snake," "An Ox Passes Through the Window," and "Ts'ui-yen's Eyebrows [Yün-men's
Barrier]." The first koan in the Blue Cliff Record ("EmperorWu Questions Bodhidharma") and
the first koan in the Gateless Barrier ("Chao-chou's Mu") are included because of their
importance in Ch'an/Zen. Daitō commented

-192-

on some material more than once, so various comparisons are possible. Cases 16 and 17
present two sets of capping phrases on the same koan. Case 5 and poem 14 (preceding
section) deal with one koan; case 10 and poem 20 deal with another koan. For "The Kalpa
Fire," two sets of capping phrases and one poem have been translated (cases 14 and 15, poem
24). Three responses to "The Summit of Wonder Peak" are also presented (cases 18 and 19,
poem 15).Not all of the cases are formal koans. For example, in cases 1, 3, and 8, Daitō
excerpted material from the Record of Lin-chi. When Daitō does cite a koan, he may give the
full version or a shortened one; for instance, he uses the long (and less familiar) version of
"Chaochou's Mu."Daitō's capping phrases are italicized below. The note at the end of each
case provides bibliographic information and a key to Appendix II, where characters for all of
the capping phrases may be found. For clarity, the titles of some of the cases have been
modified.

Case 1 Huang-po Strikes Lin-chi

Huang-po struck Lin-chi sixty times.

The sun appears and the moon disappears. 31

152
Case 2 A Dying Snake

An ancient said, "When you encounter a dying snake in the road, don't beat it to death. Carry
it home in a bottomless basket."

All right. 32

Case 3 A Man on the Road

Lin-chi ascended the abbot's seat and said, "There is a man who is on the road but has never
left home. And there is another man who has left his home but is not on the road."

Where the white clouds are deep, a golden dragon dances. 33

Case 4 An Ox Passes Through the Window

Wu-tsu [ Fa-]yen said, "An ox passes through the window. His head, horns, and four legs all
go through. But why can't the tail pass too?"

One gâme, two victories. Under a peony, a kitten naps. Someone else would not have been
able to trace the footprints. 34

-193-

Case 5 No Dharmas

P'an-shan instructed, "There are no dharmas in the three realms; where can mind be sought?"

The sky cannot cover it, the earth cannot uphold it. No road to advance upon, no gate to
retreat through. The iron ball has no seams. The sky is high in the southeast, the earth is low
in the northwest. 35

Case 6 The Three Mysteries

The mystery within the essence.

Mt. Sumeru.

The mystery within the phrase.

Ring of Iron Mountain.

The mystery within the mystery.

The Eighth Sea. 36

Case 7 Tou-shuai's Three Turning Words

Tou-shuai gave three turning words: "You search through grasses and investigate

153
profundities, in order to see your true nature. Right at this moment, where is your true
nature?"

The moon is bright, the wind is pure.

"If you've seen your true nature you are free from life-and-death. How will you be free in
your final moments, as the light is failing?"

Pure wind, bright moon.

"If you've freed yourself from life-and-death, you know where you will go. So when the four
elements disperse, where will you go?"

Pure wind, bright moon. 37

Case 8 Lin-chi's Four Classifications

Lin-chi gave four classifications: "To take away the man and not take away the
surroundings."

A poor man thinks about his unpaid debts.

"To take away the surroundings and not take away the man."

The foreign monk [ Bodhidharma] sits at Shao-lin.

"To take away both the man and the surroundings."

The old mouse drags raw ginger.

"To take away neither the man nor the surroundings."

General Li shoots a stone tiger with an arrow. 38

-194-

Case 9 Who Is the Master?

A monk asked Hsiang-lin, "Who is the master of the vast uncultivated rice field?"

To put a nail in a tree.

Hsiang-lin said, "Look, look! The twelfth month is coming to an end."

To buy iron and receive gold.39

Case 10 Snow in a Silver Bowl

154
A monk asked Pa-ling, "What is the school of Āryadeva?"

To beat the grass and see a snake. Gold is tested with fire.

Pa-ling said, "Snow piled in a silver bowl."

A white horse enters the reed flowers. Since long ago, a white cloud has been sleeping among
the reed flowers. 40

Case 11 Chao-Chaou's Mu

A monk asked Chao-chou, "Does a dog have Buddha-nature or not?"

His tongue is already long.

Chao-chou said, "Mu."

To buy iron and receive gold. Completely fills emptiness. To throw a holeless iron hammer
head right at him.

The monk said, "Even creeping creatures all have Buddha-nature. Why wouldn't a dog have
Buddha-nature?"

Why doesn't he get control of himself and leave?

Chao-chou said, "Because it has its karmic nature."

The old thief has met complete defeat. 41

Case 12 Wash Your Bowls

A monk said to Chao-chou, "I've just entered the monastery. Please teach me."

To open the mouth is to err.

Chao-chou asked, "Have you eaten your breakfast?"

Spilled his guts and disgorged his heart.

The monk said, "Yes I have."

To move the tongue is to slander.

-195-

Chao-chou said, "Then go and wash your bowls."

A double koan.

155
The monk gained insight.

The iron ball has no seams.42

Case 13 Emperor Wu Questions Bodhidharma

Emperor Wu of Liang asked the great master Bodhidharma, "What is the highest principle of
the holy teachings?"

Didn't think he could ask.

Bodhidharma said, "Vast emptiness, nothing holy."

One slab of iron stretching ten thousand miles. Thrust out right in front. Stars in the sky,
rivers on the earth.

The Emperor said, "Who is facing me?"

What a pity!

Bodhidharma replied, "I don't know."

Completely fills emptiness. The moon is bright, the wind is pure. 43

Case 14 The Kalpa Fire (I)

A monk asked Ta-sui, "In the roar of the kalpa fire, the whole universe is destroyed."

Spilled his guts and disgorged his heart.

"Tell me, is This destroyed?"

My don't you go right away?

Ta-sui said, "Destroyed."

Spilled his guts and disgorged his heart.

The monk said, "Then [This] will go along with [the destruction of the universe]?"

So pitiful and sad.

Ta-sui said, "It goes along with it."

A double koan.44

Case 15 The Kalpa Fire (II)

A monk asked Ta-sui, "In the roar of the kalpa fire, the whole universe is destroyed. Tell me,

156
is This destroyed?"

The exhausted fish is stuck in shallow water. By asking, one is able to get it for the first time.

Ta-sui said, "Destroyed."

Knead it but it won't form a ball.

-196-

The monk said, "Then [This] will go along with [the destruction of the universe]?"

To stumble without knowing it. To delude oneself and follow after things.

Ta-sui said, "It goes along with it."

Cannot be split apart.45

Case 16 Ts'ui-yen's Eyebrows (I)

At the end of the summer retreat, Ts'ui-yen said to the assembly, "All summer long I've been
talking to you. Look and see if my eyebrows are still there."

Where the white clouds are deep, a golden dragon dances. What public office is without
secrecy? What water is without fish? It's hard to bore a nine-curved hole into a jewel.
Hundreds of birds hover over their chicks. To come out evenly.

Pao-fu said, "In his heart the thief is afraid."

Though the Chien-ko Road is steep, travelers are even more numerous at night.
emsp;emsp;To arrest all with one warrant.

Ch'ang-ch'ing said, "Grown."

The Patterns of the mountain flowers resemble brocade; the waters of the lakes are blue as
indigo. Unable to leap out.

Yün-men said, "Barrier."

The watchman steals at night. Sons cover up for their fathers. Reversing the error and getting
it right.46

Case 17 Ts'ui-yen's Eyebrows (II)

At the end of the summer retreat, Ts'ui-yen said to the assembly, "All summer long I've been
talking to you. Look and see if my eyebrows are still there."

He hides his body but his shadow shows. There is an echo in his words.

157
Pao-fu said, "In his heart the thief is afraid."

Those walking together certainly understand. His eyes look toward the southeast, but his
heart is in the northwest.

-197-

Ch'ang-ch'ing said, "Grown."

Pine [needles] are straight, thorns are crooked. The color of pines is not old or new.

Yün-men said, "Barrier."

To decide the sentence according to the criminal's confession. The shrimp cannot leap out of
the wooden dipper. To arrest all with one warrant.

Hsüeh-tou comments: "To lose one's money and suffer punishment."

To add error to error.47

Case 18 The Summit of Wonder Peak (I)

Once when Pao-fu and Ch'ang-ch'ing were strolling in the mountains, Pao-fu pointed with his
hand and said, "Right here is the summit of Wonder Peak."

The measuring stick is in his hand. A pair of flags struck by lightning.

Ch'ang-ch'ing said, "Indeed it is, but what a shame!"

In the same hole the soil does not differ.

Hsüeh-tou comments: "Today what's the purpose of strolling in the mountains with this
fellow?"

The pine accompanies the sound of the wind. One victory, two games.

Hsüeh-tou again comments: "Hundreds of thousands of years hence, I don't say there will not
be any, just that there will be few."

Later this [original incident] was quoted to Ching-ch'ing, who said, "If it hadn't been for Mr.
Sun [ Ch'ang-ch'ing ], then you would have seen skulls all over the fields."

To add error to error. Hitting both with one blow.48

Case 19 The Summit of Wonder Peak (II)

Once when Pao-fu and Ch'ang-ch'ing were strolling in the mountains, Pao-fu pointed with his
hand and said, "Right here is the summit of Wonder Peak."

158
Wind blows but does not enter, water washes but does not touch.

Ch'ang-ch'ing said, "Indeed it is, but what a shame!"

After a long journey you know your horse's strength; after long years together you know
another's mind.

Hsüeh-tou comments: "Today what's the purpose of strolling in the mountains with this
fellow?"

-198-

Above, no supports for climbing; below, self is extinguished. Two stone statues whisper into
each other's ears.

Hsüeh-tou again comments: "Hundreds of thousands of years hence, I don't say there will not
be any, just that there will be few."

One hand lifts up, one hand presses down. Half open, half closed. A thousand soldiers are
easy to get, but a single general is hard to find.

Later this [original incident] was quoted to Ching-ch'ing, who said, "If it hadn't been for Mr.
Sun [ Ch'ang-ch'ing ], then you would have seen skulls all over the fields."

A close friend understands, but who else understands? Few people nurture others, many
people thwart others.49

Case 20 Huang Ch'ao's Sword

Yen-t'ou asked a monk, "Where have you come from?"

He reveals his dynamism in his words.

The monk said, "I've come from the Western Capital [Ch'angan]."

There is an echo in his words.

Yen-t'ou said, "After Huang Ch'ao left, were you able to get the sword?"

There are thorns in the soft mud.

The monk said, "I got it."

To stumble without knowing it.

Yen-t'ou extended his neck toward the monk and shouted.

The thief in the grass has met complete defeat.

159
 The monk said, "Your head has fallen, Master."

Recklessly he inserts needles.

Yen-t'ou laughed loudly.

His tongue has bones.

Later the monk called upon Hsüeh-feng.

He loves fragrant grasses, and he can't stop [seeking them].

Hsüeh-feng asked, "Where have you come from?"

A weed-tipped fishing pole.

The monk said, "From Yen-t'ou."

Seeking it from others is forbidden.

Hsüeh-feng asked, "What did he say?"

Falling into the weeds and seeking someone.

The monk told the preceding story.

His losses are not slight.

Hsüeh-feng hit him thirty times and drove him away.

To insert the needle where it hurts.50

-199-

Gleanings from Daitō's Capping Phrases

Daitō quoted or composed 2,279 capping phrases in his three written capping-phrase
commentaries. 51 Though he used the vast majority of these phrases only once, he also favored
a core group: 24 phrases appear 10 or more times throughout the corpus. The phrase he
repeated most often (27 times) was "One slab of iron stretching ten thousand miles." The 230
phrases translated and arranged here are a representative sample of the comments Daitō added
to the Ch'an classics. For reference, the phrases are numbered in the right-hand column.
Appendix II gives the Chinese characters for each phrase, and Appendix III leads to an index
that provides the locations of each phrase in Daitō's three commentaries.

A real Zen master!

Unusual even amidst the unusual.

160
Don't call him a novice.

All right.

That's fine too.

Just so, just so.

I am not equal to you.

Mistake.

Wasted effort.

Blind. () 10

To add error to error.

A fellow who is always playing with mudpies.

Such dullness kills people.

Already fallen to a secondary level.

He doesn't know the smell of his own shit.

To compare donkey dung with horse shit.

To lead someone into the weeds.

Falling into the weeds and seeking someone.

Shame on you!

Too crude! () 20

-200-

Big words are easy to say.

One day he will have regrets.

Why doesn't he get control of himself and leave?

To stumble without knowing it.

To delude oneself and follow after things.

So pitiful and sad.

161
What a pity!

One hand lifts up, one hand presses down.

Half open, half closed.

One in front, one in back. () 30

Like that, like that; not like that, not like that.

His eyes look toward the southeast, but his heart is in the northwest.

Straight as a koto string, bent as a hook.

The first arrow went in lightly, the second arrow went deep.

A double koan.

A triple koan.

I come back to this koan again.

Three thousand blows in the morning, eight hundred blows in the evening.

Three-foot stick, seven-foot staff.

Then he hit. () 40

The drum beats, the bell rings.

To return one's sandal allowance to one's master.

With each step a pure wind rises.

A wild tiger sitting right on the path.

Watch your step!

Walking together on the Ch'ang-an Road, hand-in-hand.

Traveling the old road by twos and threes.

-201-

Those walking together certainly understand.

No road to advance upon, no gate to retreat through.

After a long journey you know your horse's strength;

162
after long years together you know another's mind. () 50

Someone else would not have been able to trace the footprints.

Though the Chien-ko Road is steep, travelers are even more numerous at night.

I withdraw three steps.

Let's go home.

The exhausted fish is stuck in shallow water.

The shrimp cannot leap out of the wooden dipper.

Unable to leap out.

His life hangs from a thread.

The obligation is so large it is difficult to requite.

Thrust out so suddenly it's hard to handle. () 60

It's hard to save people from false Dharma.

It's hard to bore a nine-curved hole into a jewel.

Extremely difficult!

An opportunity hard to come by.

Not to begrudge one's life.

Seeking it from others is forbidden.

To test a person through words.

Close question, distant answer.

The answer is in the question.

If they hadn't trained together,

how could he have discerned the real point? () 70

The monk must know this moment for himself.

Great Master Yün-men has arrived here.

Chao-chou's practice at the age of eighty.

163
Practicing alongside Chao-chou.

-202-

How would Lin-chi and Te-shan meet each other?

Do not make a mistake because of Lin-chi.

Losing one's way and running into Bodhidharma.

The foreign monk [ Bodhidharma] sits at Shao-lin.

Hsüeh-tou has opened only one eye.

Hsüeh-tou must understand that kind of talk. () 80

Hsüeh-tou alone [understands].

This is indeed Hsüeh-tou.

Do not make a mistake because of Hsüeh-tou.

To swallow Hsüeh-tou.

We cannot split Hsüeh-tou.

Hsüeh-tou has not yet gotten that far.

Where is Hsüeh-tou?

Master Shakyamuni's eyeballs pop out.

I'll join Shakyamuni in retirement.

Buddha's hand cannot be opened. () 90

The buddhas and patriarchs hold their breath.

Blue sky, bright sun.

The sun is close to setting.

The moon is bright, the wind is pure.

A double ring around the moon.

The sun appears and the moon disappears.

Pure wind, bright moon.

164
The wind blows and the grass bends.

Though the bamboo forest is dense, water flows through it freely.

Bamboo in the South, trees in the North. () 100

Stars in the sky, rivers on the earth.

Pine [needles] are straight, thorns are crooked.

-203-

The color of pines is not old or new.

The pine accompanies the sound of the wind.

When the clouds disperse, the cave becomes bright.

The patterns of the mountain flowers resemble brocade; the waters of the lakes are blue as
indigo.

Under a peony, a kitten naps.

The old mouse drags raw ginger.

To lie flat in the tiger's mouth.

Hundreds of birds hover over their chicks. () 110

The crane flies over a thousand feet of snow.

Eyes black as a crow.

To beat the grass and surprise a snake.

Seeing a rabbit, he releases the hawk.

A white horse enters the reed flowers.

The clever dog bites the man.

Birds fly, rabbits run.

The blue sky is not blue, the white clouds are not white.

Two stone statues whisper into each other's ears.

General Li shoots a stone tiger with an arrow. () 120

Inside the pot, heaven and earth keep a different calendar.

165
The more it is hidden, the more it manifests.

To wash a clod of earth in the mud.

Rabbits and horses have horns, cows and sheep don't have horns.

Amidst the sound of running water, not to hear running water.

One slab of iron stretching ten thousand miles.

A drop of ink transmutes: two dragons appear.

Since long ago, a white cloud has been sleeping among the reed flowers.

-204-

An octagonal millstone flies through the air.

Where the white clouds are deep, a golden dragon dances. () 130

Many lies are not as effective as a few facts.

Small compassion is a hindrance to great compassion.

A bitter melon is bitter even to its roots; a sweet melon is sweet even to its stem.

The son inherits the occupation of the father.

Under a good general, one is certain to find brave soldiers.

A thousand soldiers are easy to get, but a single general is hard to find.

If you hear it incorrectly, you will mistake a bell for a cooking pot.

In the same hole the soil does not differ.

In a group of three people, one will be my teacher.

A poor man thinks about his unpaid debts. () 140

One must drink wine among friends and recite poems before those who understand.

Ch'ang-an is a pleasant place, but it's difficult to live there long.

Virtue never stands alone.

With one experience comes one bit of knowledge.

Few people nurture others, many people thwart others.

166
The sky does not have four walls.

The watchman steals at night.

In his heart the thief is afraid.

The old thief has met complete defeat.

The thief in the grass has met complete defeat. () 150

Sons cover up for their fathers.

To arrest all with one warrant.

To decide the sentence according to the criminal's confession.

When killing someone, make sure you see his blood.

-205-

One victory, two games.

One game, two victories.

Defeated.

He has lost.

His losses are not slight.

His tongue has bones. () 160

His tongue has no bones.

His tongue is already long.

To move the tongue is to slander.

To open the mouth is to err.

His mouth is like a bowl of blood.

One, two, three.

A thousand.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

Thirty-three people.

167
Six, five, four, three, two, one. () 170

Seven times nine is sixty-three.

A mute eats bitter melons.

Gives me goose bumps.

To open one's eyes in a coffin.

One flake of snow above a blazing hearth.

There are thorns in the soft mud.

Blood flowing out.

To extract an arrow from the back of his head.

Knead it but it won't form a ball.

Recklessly he inserts needles. () 180

To insert the needle where it hurts.

He loves fragrant grasses, and he can't stop [seeking them].

Sudhana enters Maitreya's palace.

-206-

He hides his body but his shadow shows.

Spilled his guts and disgorged his heart.

It plugs the ears of everyone on earth.

Iron wall, silver mountain.

Scoop up water, the moon lies in your hands; toy with a flower, its fragrance soaks your robe.

The sky cannot cover it, the earth cannot uphold it.

Who? () 190

Where did it go?

Is he there? Is he there?

What is the place?

168
What is the understanding?

What state of mind?

A close friend understands, but who else understands?

What public office is without secrecy? What water is without fish?

Of what use is an iron hammer head with no hole?

If a master arrives here, how will you respond?

Bodhidharma did not come to China,

c

the Second Patriarch did not go to India. () 200

The iron ball has no seams.

The sky is high in the southeast, the earth is low in the northwest.

Mt. Sumeru.

Ring of Iron Mountain.

The Eighth Sea.

To put a nail in a tree.

To buy iron and receive gold.

To beat the grass and see a snake.

-207-

Gold is tested with fire.

Completely fills emptiness. () 210

To throw a holeless hammer head right at him.

Didn't think he could ask.

Thrust out right in front.

Why don't you go right away?

By asking, one is able to get it for the first time.

Cannot be split apart.

169
To come out evenly.

Reversing the error and getting it right.

There is an echo in his words.

The measuring stick is in his hand. () 220

A pair of flags struck by lightning.

Hitting both with one blow.

Wind blows but does not enter, water washes but does not touch.

Above, no supports for climbing; below, self is extinguished.

He reveals his dynamism in his words.

A weed-tipped fishing pole.

Please drink this cup of wine; beyond the Western outpost you'll find no friends.

A command that cannot be disobeyed.

There are just a lot of [ordinary] people.

Would Hsüeh-tou [stoop to] fight with you? () 230

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APPENDIX I
The Daitō Corpus

The works attributed to Daitō include scrolls in his own hand, teachings transcribed by
disciples, poetry in Japanese and Chinese, commentaries, and correspondence. Most of these
texts are in kanbun, though a few are in vernacular Japanese. The surviving versions of
Daitō's writings or teachings are usually handwritten copies of earlier handwritten copies. As
a result, a given work may have several redactions, sometimes with different titles, whereas
other texts may have no title at all. Dating such materials is problematic. Few works are
nydated during Daitō's lifetime, with the exception of some of his own calligraphy. Often a
date, say 1450, will first appear on a later transcription, yet that document of 1450 will
survive only through an even later recension, which may or may not bear its own date. The
authenticity of many works is therefore difficult to confirm. Though Daitō's calligraphy and
discourse record can be attributed to him with relative certainty, it is more difficult to assess a
long dialogue that sounds like fiction or a commentary that relies on several generations of
oral transmission. Some of the works currently attributed to Daitō may in fact be his, or they
may be partially his, or they may not be his at all. Because important new texts are still
coming to light, the contours of the Daitō corpus continue to shift.

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 1. Record of National Master Daitō (Daitō Kokushi goroku)

Daitō Kokushi goroku is the authorized collection of Daitō's formal and informal discourses,
beginning with the inauguration of Daitokuji in 1326 and ending in 1337, the year of the
master's death. The full name of the text is expanded by Daitō's posthumous titles: Ryōhō
Kaisan Tokushi Kōzen Daitō Kōshō Shōtō Kokushi goroku (Record of the Imperially Favored
National Master Kōzen Daltō Kōshō Shōtō, Founder of the Dragon Treasure Mountain
[Daitokuji]). One of the compilers was Daitō's disciple Kanzan Egen ( 1277-1360), who later
founded Myōshinji.

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Through the end of 1336 Daitō's talks follow the full monastic schedule, but only two undated
talks are recorded for 1337. The Record also includes Daitō's forty-eight commentarial verses
(juko), the earliest Daitō biography, and his capping-phrase commentary on portions of the
Record of Hsüeh-tou (see no. 4 below). Though the first woodblock edition of Daitō's Record
is undated, it was published sometime between 1426(the date of Daitō's biography) and
1467(the first year of the ōnin War, during which the original woodblocks were destroyed). A
second edition appeared in 1621.

Today the Record of Daitō is most accessible in Takakusu Junjirō, ed., Taishō shinshō
daizōkyō ( Tokyo, 1924-1932), volume 81, pp. 191a-242c. A substantial portion of the Record
has been rendered in modern Japanese and annotated by Hirano Sōjō in Daitō, volume 6 of
Nihon no Zen goroku ( Tokyo, 1978). More recently, Hirano has published a two-volume
Daitō Kokushi goroku ( Kyoto, 1986); volume 1 is a replica of the 1621 woodblock edition,
and volume 2 presents the text in classical Japanese with notes.

2. Dharma Words of National Master Daitō (Daitō Kokushi hōgo)

Daitō Kokushi hōgo consists of two short sermons on Zen practice, one of which is addressed
to Emperor Hanazono's consort, Senkō (d. 1360). Whereas Daitō's other principal works are
written in kanbun, this text is written in Japanese. Several redactions exist; the oldest is a
hand-copied manuscript from the Muromachi period, added to the Shōichi kanahōgo
(Dharma Words of Shōichi [Enni], in Japanese). For a study of the text's background, see
Sanae Kensei, "Yomogisawa Bunkobon Shōichi kanahōgo no kenkyō:"I, (in Zenbunka
kenkyōjo kiyō 6: 265- 294 ( May 1974). Hirano Sōjō translates the text into modern Japanese
in his Daitō Zen no tankyō ( Tokyo, 1974), pp. 7-37.

3. Calligraphy

Many of Daitō's writings survive in his own hand. His two enlightenment poems, his
correspondence with emperors Hanazono and Go-Daigo, his death verse, and his final
testament have been reverently preserved at Daitokuji. Daitō's calligraphic copies of the
Transmission of the Lamp and his glosses on the Record of Ta-ch'uan predate his move to
Daitokuji. About ten of Daitō's letters to disciples are also extant; many are addressed to nuns,
lay men, and lay women. The most comprehensive collection of Daitō's calligraphy is found

171
in Maruoka Sōnan , ed., Daitokuji bokuseki zenshō ( Tokyo, 1984), volume 1. Also useful is
Tayama Hōnan, ed., Daitokuji, volume 11 of Hihō ( Tokyo, 1968).

4. Essential Words for Careful Study (Sanshō goyō)

This work is Daitō's capping-phrase commentary on two volumes of the Record of Hsüeh-tou
(Hsüeh-tou lu). Its full title is Tokushi Kōzen Daitō Kokushi sanshō goyō. Hsüeh-tou Ch'ung-
hsien ( 980-1052) is best known as the first compiler of the Blue Cliff Record. Sanshō goyō
was first published between 1426 and 1467 as part of the Record of Daitō. Nothing further is
known about its date of composition, subsequent editor(s), or early history of transmission.
No other recensions exist. Today this work is most accessible in the Taishō daizōkyō edition
of Daitō's Record (volume 81, pp. 224c-242c).

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5. One Hundred Twenty Cases (Hyakunijussoku)

In Hyakunijussoku Daitō added interlinear capping phrases to his own selection of koans and
other material from Ch'an texts. Thirty-five of the 120 "cases" are koans from the Blue Cliff
Record, and fourteen are koans from the Gateless Barrier. The collection begins with the two
koans that were most crucial in Daitō's Zen training. The earliest extant edition of
Hyakunijussoku (now in a private collection) dates from 1519; it is signed by Seian Sōi
( 1483-1562), the 93rd abbot of Daitokuji. Seian's transcription is flawed by minor errors: his
numbering of the 120 cases does not tally with his table of contents, and he occasionally treats
a portion of a case as a Daitō capping phrase. Tandō Shōshuku ( 1629?- 1713), the 226th
abbot of Daitokuji, added a later colophon to this text.

Two other recensions are preserved by Reisen-in and Ryōkō-in temples. The Ryōkō-in text
includes a postscript with a Zen dialogue between Daitō and a monk, dated the first month of
Kenmu 4[ 1337 ]. This encounter, not found in Daitō's Record, seems to be the master's last
recorded discourse. Several other redactions, transmitted within the Myōshinji lineage, retain
the Hyakunijussoku title, but their contents depart from Seian's text: they contain fewer than
fifty koans, the capping phrases differ, and they include explanations in Japanese.

In 1944 D. T. Suzuki introduced Hyakunijussoku to the Japanese scholarly community in an

essay entitled Nihon Zen shisōshi no ichidanmen, reprinted in Suzuki Daisetsu zenshō
( Tokyo, 1968), volume 4, pp. 5-37. In 1971 Hirano Sōjō published the first edited and
corrected Hyakunijussoku, after comparing the three known recensions; see "Daitō Kokushi
agyo no kenkyō:"I, in Zenbunka kenkyōjo kiyō 3: 61-74 ( October 1971). Hirano has also
rendered the text in classical Japanese in Daitō Zen no tankyō, pp. 38-54.

6. Capping Phrases on the Blue Cliff Record ((Hekigan agyo)

In Hekigan agyo Daitō supplied interlinear capping phrases to the hundred core koans of the
Blue Cliff Record. (Hsüeh-tou's verses and Yüan-wu's glosses are omitted.) The text's full title
is usually given as Hekigan hyakusoku Daitō Kokushi agyo. Thirty-five of the koans also
appear in Hyakunijussoku, but the capping phrases on these duplicated koans differ in the two

172
works. The text includes a pithy colophon, dated 1414 and signed by Kasō Sōdon ( 1352-
1428), an early and influential Daitokuji abbot. It states in part:

Fundamentally there is heavenly true nature, manifest before the separation of heaven and
earth.... In the future, you must guard it carefully. Dissemi- nate my Way and illuminate [true
nature]. Consider this deeply, consider this deeply. Ōei 21[ 1414 ], first month, 18th day.
Humbly written by Old Kasō.

From the language of this colophon, we may infer that Kasō allowed one of his Dharma heirs
to transcribe a copy of Hekigan agyo, and then Kasō added these words. Since a nearly
identical colophon is appended to the discourse record of Kasō's successor, Yōsō Sōi ( 1378-
1458), the disciple who made this copy of Hekigan agyo was probably Yōsō.

The three handwritten recensions that survive today are early Tokugawa- period copies of an
older manuscript. They are housed in the archives of

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Shinju-an (a Daitokuji subtemple), the library of Komazawa University, and Kōfukuji temple
(the Kōfukuji text was rediscovered in 1968). In 1971 Hirano Sōjō published an edited
version of Hekigan agyo based on these recensions; see "Daitō Kokushi agyo no kenkyō:"I, in
Zenbunka kenkyōjo kiyō 3: 47-58 ( October 1971).

7. Untitled Capping-Phrase Anthology

In addition to the three capping-phrase works just cited, there is a fourth manuscript, which is
not a commentary. Rather, it lists about nine hundred capping phrases, divided into thirty-six
groups with headings such as "Praise," "Denunciation," and "Ridicule." The work is untitled,
undated, and unsigned; irregularities on its first page suggest that an opening section is
missing. Even if the attribution to Daitō cannot be verified conclusively, the manuscript is the
earliest Japanese capping-phrase anthology that has come to light. Signifi- cantly, it predates
Tōyō Eichō's influential Kuzōshi ([ Zen ] Phrase Book), which was compiled in the late
fifteenth century but is known only through seven- teenth-century recensions.

Gyokushō Sōhan ( 1599-1668), the 185th abbot of Daitokuji, appended the earliest colophon
on the text, identifying the calligraphy as Daitō's: "These are the tracks of the running rabbit
[brush strokes] of our patriarch National Master Daitō. Do not doubt them." Gyokushō's claim
was reinforced by Tenshitsu Sōchiku ( 1604-1667), another Daitokuji abbot of the period. A
final colophon was written by Chōhō Sō'u ( 1759-1838), abbot of the Daitokuji subtemple
Hōshun-in. During the late nineteenth century one of the Hōshun-in abbots transferred the
first portion of the text to the Kyoto National Museum, and it was not rediscovered until 1983,
when museum curators were asked to search their archives for Daitō-related materials. In
1984 photographic reproductions of the Hōshun-in manuscript were made public in
Maruoka's Daitokuji bokuseki zenshō, volume 1, pp. 60-68. Then the second portion of the
text (from an unidentified collection) was brought to the attention of Hirano Sōjō , who
published a full transcription of the reunited manuscript in "Den Daitō senkushō", Zenbunka
kenkyōjo kiyō 15: 561-600 ( December 1988).

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 8. Evening Dialogue at Shōun-an (Shōunyawa)

Shōunyawa purports to record a conversation between Daitō and an elder monk identified
only as Kō. Its alternate titles are Hasonshukuyawa and Ha'ichisonshukuyawa (Defeating a
Priest in an Evening Talk). Initially, Shōunyawa was transmitted within the Ikkyū branch of
Daitō's lineage. A redaction in the Ryōgen-in archives is dated 1457, and a similar manuscript
in Shinju-an is also thought to date from the Muromachi period. Hirano Sōjō traces the text's
development in "Daitō Kokushi Hasonshukuyawa no kenkyō," in Zenbunka kenkyōjo ,
Zengaku ronkō ( Kyoto, 1977), pp. 343-349. He also translates the work into modern Japanese
in Daitō, pp. 371-395.

9. Light [hearted] Oxherding Poems (Yōgyōkyōginka)

Yōgyōkyōginka includes about seventy brief poems in Japanese, most of them on Zen-related
topics. The earliest of the three woodblock redactions, dating from

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1678, was edited by the monk Dōkai ( 1628-1695). Because the quality of the material is
uneven, some of the verses may be later additions to a core group of original poems by Daitō.
A modern Japanese translation of this work is found in Hirano, Daitō Zen no tankyō, pp. 55-
85.

10. The Spoken Meaning of The Blue Cliff Record (Hekigan kugi)

The ten-volume Hekigan kugi is a detailed commentary on the complete Blue Cliff Record.
Some portions may have been transmitted orally before being recorded. Daitō is the principal
commentator, but the work also includes annotation by other Daitokuji masters. Among those
named, the latest is Shunpo Sōki ( 1408- 1496). The earliest known recension is housed in
Ryōkō-in; according to its ambiguous colophonic material, it was transcribed by hand in 1556
or 1560 by Sankansai or Sōji. Hekigan kugi remains virtually unknown outside Daitokuji. A
later but undated woodblock redaction of the text, entitled Hekiganshō koshō ( Classic Notes
on the Blue Cliff Record), is stored in the library of Kyoto Fine Arts University. Also in ten
volumes, it bears the inscription: "The secret notes of Daiō, Daitō, and Tettō, reprinted by
woodblock."

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APPENDIX III
Location of Capping Phrases Cited
Daitō's use of the capping phrases cited in this book can be traced with the aid of the
following table and an index compiled by Hirano Sōjō. The left-hand numbers below refer to
capping phrases; numeration corresponds to Chapter 12, where the phrases are translated, and
Appendix II, where they appear in Sino-Japanese. The right-hand entries below refer to pages
and columns of the Hirano index, which provides the locations of the capping phrases in
Daitō's written commentaries. Hirano compared all known recensions of Daitō's Hekigan
agyo and Hyakunijussoku as well as the Taishō daizōkyō edition of Daitō's Sanshō goyō. For

174
Hirano's index, see "Daitō Kokushi agyo no kenkyō:"II, in Zenbunka kenkyōjo kiyō 4 ( June
1972), pp. 151-184. (An asterisk below indicates a phrase that appears in Daitō's works but
was omitted from Hirano's index.)
1. 160c
2. 151c
3. 179c
4. 153c
5. 180a
6. 170c
7. 159c
8. 161b
9. 156a
10. 155b
11. 166b
12. 151c
13. 174a
14. 156b
15. 163a
16. 184a
17. 157c
18. 183a
19. 173c
20. 169c
21. 170b
22. 169c
23. 154b
24. 161a
25. 181b
26. 154a
27. 154a
28. 152b
29. 176a
30. 152a
31. 153b
32. 156b
33. 163c
34. 168c
35. 183b
36. 161c
37. 156a
38. 171c
39. *
40. 178c
41. 159b
42. 182b
43. 179a
44. 181b
45. 155c
46. 175c
47. 183c

175
48. 173b
49. 166c
50. 172c
51. 164b
52. 158c
53. 162a
54. 156c
55. 160c
56. 155a
57. 171c
58. 181a
59. 153c
60. 174a
61. 164a
62. 164c
63. 170c
64. 163b
65. 177b
66. 168a
67. 151b
68. 157c
69. 173a
70. 164b
71. 175b
72. 153c
73. 166c
74. 182b
75. 183c

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76. 177a
77. 181b
78. 159b
79. 168b
80. 168b
81. 170c
82. 166b
83. 177a
84. 174a
85. 168b
86. 168a
87. 168b
88. 164a
89. 182b
90. 178a
91. 178a
92. 167c
93. 174c
94. 158c

176
95. 158c
96. 174c
97. 168a
98. 178a
99. 171a
100. 174b
101. 172b
102. 166a
103. 166a
104. 166a
105. 153c
106. 162a
107. 179a
108. 184b
109. 159b
110. 176c
111. 155b
112. 156b
113. 170a
114. 158c
115. 176a
116. 165b
117. *
118. 167c
119. 183b
120. 183a
121. 159b
122. 153b
123. 172a
124. 172c
125. 183b
126. 176b
127. 152c
128. 176a
129. 176a
130. 176a
131. 169c
132. 166a
133. 158a
134. 162b
135. 165a
136. 168c
137. 171c
138. 173b
139. 162a
140. 176c
141. 164c
142. 171b
143. 173c
144. 153a

177
145. 167c
146. 172c
147. 165b
148. 161a
149. 184b
150. 169b
151. 162b
152. 152b
153. 157b
154. 161c
155. 183b
156. 152a
157. 175c
158. 163c
159. 175c
160. 168b
161. 168b
162. 168b
163. 173b
164. 155b
165. 159c
166. 152c
167. 168b
168. 153b
169. 161c
170. 184b
171. 163c
172. 151a
173. 155c
174. 156a
175. 160b
176. 183a
177. 158b
178. 175b
179. 175b
180. 184b
181. 171c
182. 184a
183. 168c
184. 169c
185. 178c
186. 161b
187. 172a
188. 156c
189. 172b
190. 151a
191. 174b
192. 182a
193. 167c
194. 167c

178
 195. 167c
196. 171a
197. 154b
198. 181a
199. 174c
200. 170c
201. 172a
202. 172b
203. 164c
204. 172a
205. 170c
206. 167b
207. 175c
208. 170a
209. 157c
210. 176c
211. 181a
212. 166b
213. 173a
214. 154b
215. 181c
216. 178b
217. 178b
218. 153a
219. 159a
220. 166b
221. 169a
222. 152c
223. 178a
224. 166c
225. 158a
226. 170c
227. 156a
228. 177b
229. 162c
230. 168a

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6.
Yanagida Seizan, Rinzai no kafō, p. 173.
7.
Suzuki Daisetsu, Nihon Zen shisōshi no ichidanmen, p. 19.
8.
Ogisu Jundō, ed., Zen to Nihon bunka no shomondai, p. 44.
9.
Heinrich Dumoulin, Zen Buddhism:A History, p. 190.
10.
The best treatments of Daitō's life are found in Ogisu Jundō, Musō, Daitō, pp. 135-218, and
Yanagida Seizan, Rinzai no kafō, pp. 159-197. Both authors use a wide range of sources,

179
though Ogisu uncritically accepts sectarian depictions of Daitō. Katō Shōshun evaluates the
earliest accounts of Daitō's life in "Kakushu Daitō-den no idō ni tsuite." Hirano Sōjō is
responsible for most of the modern scholarship on Daitō's written works. He renders Daitō's
discourse record in classical Japanese, with notes, in Daitō Kokushi goroku, and he translates
about half of this same text into modern Japanese in Daitō. His Daitō Zen no tankyō focuses
on the master's brief vernacular texts. Hirano's index of Daitō's capping phrases appears in
"Daitō Kokushi agyo no kenkyō:"II.

The two best Western-language treatments of Daitō are only a few pages each. One is a brief
biography in Miura and Sasaki, Zen Dust, pp. 231-234. The other is found in Dumoulin, Zen
Buddhism:A History, pp. 185-190. Regrettably, the sketch of Daitō in Jon Carter Covell and
Yamada Sōbin, Zen at Daitoku-ji, pp. 26-32, is marred by errors of fact and translation. D. T.
Suzuki's Manual of Zen Buddhism, first published in 1935, includes a translation of Daitō's
"Final Admonitions".

11.
T. Grifith Foulk, "The 'Ch'an School' and Its Place in the Buddhist Monastic Tradition", pp.
91-92.
12.
See Shibayama Zenkei, ed., Zenrin kushō, and Fujita Genro, ed., Zudokko.
13.
In the West, capping phrases and verses have been selectively translated, though they rarely
play a role in the koan training of Western Zen practitioners. Volume 1 of R. H. Blyth's Haiku
contains 74 translated verses (pp. 10-23). In Zen Dust, Miura and Sasaki offer an "anthology"
of 210 phrases (pp. 79-122). Numerous capping phrases are found in two works by Yoel
Hoffmann: Every End Exposed and The Sound of the One Hand. The latter is a translation of
a 1916 text critical of Japanese Rinzai Zen; out of context it may create a misleading
impression of Zen training. Sōiku Shigematsu has published two books that offer freely
translated selections from the Japanese capping-phrase anthologies used by Rinzai Zen
practitioners: A Zen Forest and A Zen Harvest. Capping phrases and verses are also scattered
throughout the English works of D. T. Suzuki.
14.
Hyakunijussoku ( One Hundred Twenty Cases), in Suzuki Daisetsu, Suzuki Daisetsu zenshō,
4, 373-394.
15.
Yanagida, Rinzai no kafō, p. 167.
16.
Hirano Sōjō, "Daitō Kokushi agyo no kenkyō:"I, pp. 47-58.
17.
For further bibliographic information on this manuscript and the other works cited in this
paragraph, see Appendix I: The Daitō Corpus.
18.
See Katō Shōshun, "Kanzan Egen-den no shiryōhihan".

2. Japan in the Early Fourteenth Century

1.
H. Paul Varley, trans., A Chronicle of Gods and Sovereigns, pp. 233-234.
2.
Martin Collcutt, Five Mountains:The Rinzai Zen Monastic Institution in Medieval Japan, p.
71.

180
3.
Helen Craig McCullough, trans., The Taiheiki:A Chronicle of Medieval Japan, p. xxxv.
4.
In the Taiheiki, Akamatsu is introduced as follows: "Around that time in

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the province of Harima, there was a matchless man of valor called the lay monk Akamatsu
Jirō Enshin, an offspring of the line of Suefusa of junior third rank, who was a descendant in
the sixth generation of the Prince of the Blood Guhei, the seventh son of Emperor Murakami.
Enshin was a man of large ideas, such as would not willingly give place to others."
McCullough, Taiheiki, pp. 162-163.
5.
Ibid., p. 202.
6.
H. Paul Varley, "Ashikaga Yoshimitsu and the World of Kitayama:" Social Change and
Shogunal Patronage in Early Muromachi Japan, p. 190.
7.
Ibid., p. 188.
8.
Donald Keene, trans., Essays in Idleness:The Tsurezuregusa of Kenkō, p. 23.
9.
Ibid., p. 28.
10.
McCullough, Taiheiki, p. 18.
11.
Ibid., p. xxv.
12.
Robert E. Morrell, Sand and Pebbles (Shasekishō), p. 120.
13.
McCullough, Taiheiki, p. 18.
14.
Ibid., p. 318.
15.
Ibid., p. 12.
16.
Ibid., p. 91.
17.
Keene, Essays in Idleness, p. 25.
18.
William R. LaFleur, trans., Mirror for the Moon, p. 45 (slightly modified).
19.
Philip Kapleau, The Three Pillars of Zen, p. 187.
20.
Varley, A Chronicle of Gods and Sovereigns, p. 26n.
21.
McCullough, Taiheiki, p. 15.
22.
Varley, A Chronicle of Gods and Sovereigns, p. 237.
23.

181
Morrell, Sand and Pebbles, p. 135.
24.
Keene, Essays in Idleness, p. 69.
25.
H. Paul Varley, Imperial Restoration in Medieval Japan, p. 76.
26.
Keene, Essays in Idleness, p. 90.
27.
Trevor Leggett, The Warrior Koans:Early Zen in Japan, p. 128.
28.
Tayama Hōnan, ed., Daitokuji, plates 253 and 307, pp. 255, 288.
29.
McCullough, Taiheiki, p. 365.
30.
Ivan Morris, The Nobility of Failure:Tragic Heroes in the History of Japan, p. 110.
31.
Collcutt summarizes scholarly interpretations of the Kenmu Restoration in Five Mountains,
pp. 96-97; Andrew Goble sympathetically assesses Go- Daigo's achievements at greater
length in "Go-Daigo and the Kemmu Restoration".
32.
TSD, 81, 223b.
33.
Kenkō's involvement with Nanpo and later with Daitokuji is documented in Yasuraoka
Kōsaku, "Kenkō no tonsei seikatsu to Tsurezuregusa no seiritsu".

3. Daitō's Early Zen Training

1.
The original manuscript of this biography is not extant. The earliest ver sion of it is found in
the Record of Daitō, printed by woodblock between 1426 and 1467. Today the most
accessible edition is in TSD, 81, 222b-224c.
2.
Takuan's biography of Daitō was not published until 1984, when Yanagida Seizan transcribed
the original manuscript and translated it into classical Japanese. See DBZ, pp. 266-278.
3.
Brief biographies of Daitō are found in the following works: (a) Fusō Zenrin sōbōden (
Biographies of the Treasured Zen Monks of Japan), 1675, edited by

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Kōsen Seikyō ( 1633-1695); (b) Enpō dentōroku (Enpō [Era] Record of the Transmission of
the Lamp), 1678, edited by Mangen Shiban ( 1626-1710); (c) Daitokuji hen nen ryakki ( Brief
Chronology of Daitokuji), c. 1685, edited by Tenrin Sōkotsu ( 1626- 1697); (d) Daitō Kokushi
gyōgōki ( Accomplishments of National Master Daitō), 1686, also edited by Tenrin Sōkotsu;
(e) Tentaku tōinroku ( Tentaku[ji] Record of the Eastern Lineage), 1696, edited by Tenrin's
disciple Kakuin Gitei; and (f) Honchō kōsōden ( Biographies of the Eminent Monks of Japan),
1701, also edited by Mangen Shiban. Three of these works are found in Nanjo Bunyō et al.,
Dai Nihon Bukkyō zensho: (a) in vol. 109, pp. 228-230; (b) in vol. 108, pp. 275-277; and (f) in
vol. 102, pp. 358-361. Two are found in Daiki Sōyō, ed., Ryōhōzan Daitokuji-shi, vol. 1: (c)
on pp. 125-136, and (d) on pp. 73-80. Ryōkoku University Library has (e) as text 2964-20.
4.

182
Kokai's text is extant, housed in the Daitokuji subtemple Shinju-an. Its full title includes
Daitō's posthumous titles (at that time): Daitoku Kaisan Kōzen Daitō Kōshō Shōtō Daiji
Unkyōshin Kōkan Jōmyo Kokushi nenpu ( Chronicle of National Master Kōzen Daitō Kōshō
Shōtō Daiji Unkyōshin Kōkan Jōmyō, Founder of Daitokuji). In 1933 this text was edited by
Okuda Shōzō and published as the Kōzen Daitō Kokushi nenpu. For Daitō's additional
posthumous titles and their variant pronunciations, see Chapter 11, note 44.
5.
An alternative explanation of the Daitō-Akamatsu relationship is that Akamatsu was Daitō's
nephew, the son of Daitō's elder sister ( Daiki, Ryōhōzan Daitokuji-shi, p. 126).
6.
TSD, 81, 222b.
7.
DBZ, p. 267.
8.
Helen Craig McCullough, The Taiheiki, p. 318.
9.
Ogisu Jundō, Nihon chōsei Zenshō-shi, p. 232.
10.
DBZ, p. 267.
11.
TSD, 47, 506c; Ruth F. Sasaki, trans., The Record of Lin-chi, p. 62.
12.
A koan based on the words of Chia-shall Shan-hui ( 805-991), later quoted in the
Transmission of the Lamp (Ching-te ch'uan-teng lu), ch. 20. See TSD, 51, 362a.
13.
TSD, 81, 222c.
14.
Ibid.
15.
Ibid.
16.
Hirano Sōjō has suggested that "Shōhō Myōchō" alludes to case 23 of the Blue Cliff Record,
"The Summit of Wonder Peak." In Japanese, "Wonder Peak" is Myōhō. These two characters
appear in Daitō's monastic name, albeit in reverse order and in separate words. See Hirano
Sōjō, Daitō, p. 319.
17.
TSD, 80, 484c.
18.
Pai-chang's verse is recorded in the Transmission of the Lamp (Ching-te ch'uan-teng lu), ch.
9, in TSD, 51, 268a.
19.
TSD, 81, 222c.
20.
See TSD, 47, 497b; Sasaki, Record of Lin-chi, p. 7.
21.
"Nanpo" will be used rather than "Daiō" to avoid possible confusion between Daiō and Daitō.
Jōmyō can also be read as Jōmin.
22.
DBZ, p. 268.
23.

183
TSD, 81, 222c-223a.
24.
Philip Yampolsky, trans., The Platform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch, pp. 127- 128.
25.
TSD, 48, 297c; Zenkei Shibayama, Zen Comments on the Mumonkan, p. 272. The koan can
also be translated "an ox passes by the window."
26.
TSD, 81, 223a.

-222-

27.
Okuda Shōzō, Kōzen Daitō Kokushi nenpu, p. 10.
28.
TSD, 81, 223a.
29.
TSD, 48, 148b; Thomas Cleary and J. C. Cleary, trans., The Blue Cliff Record, p. 53.
30.
TSD, 81, 223a.
31.
Ibid.
32.
TSD, 81, 191a.
33.
TSD, 80, 485a.
34.
TSD, 81, 223a.
35.
Akizuki Ryōmin, Zen nyōmon, p. 160.
36.
James H. Sanford, Zen-man Ikkyū, p. 60.
37.
TSD, 81, 223a-223b; DBZ, p. 56.
38.
TSD, 81, 223b; DBZ, p. 56.
39.
TSD, 8, 826b. Compare Edward Conze, trans., The Short Prajñpāramitā Texts, p. 171.
40.
Ching-te ch'uan-teng lu, ch. 28, in TSD, 51, 246a.
41.
Takashi James Kodera, Dogen's Formative Years in China, pp. 122, 233.
42.
Ching-te ch'uan-teng lu, ch. 28, in TSD, 51, 444.
43.
Cleary and Cleary, Blue Cliff Record, p. 20.
44.
TSD, 81, 191a.
45.
Okuda, Kozen Daitō Kokushi nenpu, p. 23.
46.

184
Isshō Miura and Ruth F. Sasaki, Zen Dust, p. 233.
47.
Katō Shō'ichi and Yanagida Seizan, Ikkyū, p. 73. Translation adapted from Sanford, Zen-man
Ikkyū, p. 99.
48.
Yanagida Seizan and Katō Shōshun, Hakuin, p. 128.
49.
Miura and Sasaki, Zen Dust, p. 140 (modified slightly).
50.
Yamada Yoshio et al., Konjaku monogatari shō, p. 189.
51.
The name Eisai may also be pronounced Yōsai. Since the former is more familiar to Western
readers, it will be used here.
52.
D. T. Suzuki, Japanese Spirituality, p. 198.
53.
Jon Carter Covell, Zen's Core:Ikkyu's Freedom, pp. 98-99.
54.
Ogisu Jundō, Musō, Daitō, p. 153; Yanagida and Katō, Hakuin, p. 128.
55.
TSD, 81, 223b.
56.
D. T. Suzuki skirts this issue with the statement: "In spite of his many years as a wandering
beggar he was very learned, and this turned out to be very helpful later when he became a
distinguished abbot" ( Suzuki, Japanese Spiritual ity, p. 198).
57.
Translated by Norman Waddell in DBZ, p. 295. The first page of Daitō's transcription is
reproduced in DBZ, p. 59; the postscript is reproduced in DBZ, p. 60.
58.
DBZ, plate 48, pp. 72-79.
59.
DBZ, plate 47, pp. 69, 71.

4. The Foundations of japanese Zen

1.
Elements of T'ang Buddhism identified as "Ch'an" had been tentatively introduced to Japan
five centuries earlier, without success. The Japanese pilgrim Dōshō ( 629-700) went to China
in 653, and after his return he is said to have taught Ch'an meditation. The Chinese monk Tao-
hsüan ( 702-760) transmitted a Northern School lineage of Ch'an. I-k'ung arrived in Kyoto in
the mid-ninth century and expounded Ch'an to Emperor Saga ( 786-842), but he failed to win
adherents and he returned to China after a few years. Of greater impact were the Ch'an
teachings brought back to Japan by Saichō ( 767-822).

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"Ch'an" meditation, a component of the T'ien-t'ai practice Saichō found in China, was also
incorporated into Japanese Tendai.
2.
Genkō Shakusho, ch. 6, in Bussho Kankōkai, Dai Nihon Bukkyō zenshō, p. 75.
3.

185
In his Five Mountains, Martin Collcutt identifies three stages of early Japanese Zen: a
"syncretic phase," a "period of consolidation," and "a stage of metropolitan Zen" (pp. 28-30
and passim). The term "syncretic" is potentially misleading if it implies that a "pure" Sung
Ch'an was forcibly mixed with the non-Zen Buddhist schools of Japan, because Sung Ch'an
shared important elements with the other Buddhist schools of China and Japan.
4.
Genkō Shakusho, cited in Bernard Faure, "The Daruma-shō, Dōgen, and Sōtō Zen", p. 29.
5.
Faure, "The Daruma-shō, Dōgen, and Sōtō Zen", pp. 25-55; Heinrich Dumoulin , Zen
Buddhism:A History, pp. 69-70.
6.
The most comprehensive English-language treatment of the Gozan is Collcutt's Five
Mountains:The Rinzai Zen Monastic Institution in Medieval Japan. See also Dumoulin, Zen
Buddhism:A History, 151-183; and Akamatsu Toshihide and Philip Yampolsky, Muromachi
Zen and the Gozan System, pp. 313-329.
7.
Kenneth Kraft, trans., "Musō Kokushi's Dialogues in a Dream", pp. 84- 85.
8.
Collcutt, Five Mountains, p. 172.
9.
David Pollack, Zen Poems of the Five Mountains, p. 157.
10.
Trevor Leggett, Zen and the Ways, p. 41.
11.
Ibid., p. 250.
12.
Kageki Hideo, Gozanshi-shi no kenkyō, p. 121.
13.
Kamimura Kankō, ed., Gozan bungaku zenshō, 3, 70.
14.
Haga Kōshirō, Chōsei Zenrin no gakumon oyobi bungaku ni kansuru kenkyō, p. 159.
15.
Yanagida Seizan and Umehara Takeshi, Mu no tankyō, p. 196.
16.
T. Griffith Foulk, "The Zen Institution in Modern Japan", p. 157.
17.
Ogisu Jundō, Nihon chōsei Zenshō-shi, pp. 11-24.
18.
Faure, "The Daruma-shō, Dōgen, and Sōtō Zen", p. 54.
19.
Since the T'ang dynasty the balance of power had shifted periodically among the different
lines of Ch'an. A Sung period classification identified five leading "Houses." They were
named after their founders: Ts'aotung ( Ts'ao-shan and Tung-shan), Fa-yen, Yfin-men, Kuei-
yang ( Kuei-shan and Yang-shan), and Lin-chi. In the eleventh century Lin-chi's heirs split
into the Yang-ch'i and Huang-lung branches, which were added to the Five Houses to create
the "Seven Schools" of Ch'an.

The Huang-lung line spread within the central provinces of Hunan and Kiangsi; it became the
most influential branch of Ch'an during the Northern Sung period ( 960-1127). The
descendants of Yang-ch'i dominated the Ch'an world of the Southern Sung period ( 1127-

186
1279) and helped bring Ch'an into the cultural mainstream. The best-known representatives of
Yang-ch'i Ch'an are Yfian-wu K'o-ch'in ( 1063-1135) and his disciple Ta-hui Tsung-kao
( 1089- 1163). In the early thirteenth century the Yang-ch'i branch split into the P'oan and
Sung-yöan lines, named for P'o-an Tsu-hsien ( 1136-1211) and Sungyüan Ch'ung-yüeh
( 1139-1209). P'o-an Ch'an maintained primacy over Sungyüan Ch'an throughout the
thirteenth century.

20.
Genkō Shakusho, ch. 7, in Bussho Kankōkai, Dai Nihon Bukkyō zensho, 101, 85.
21.
Kōzen gokokuron (Promulgation of Zen as a Defense of the Nation, in TSD, vol. 80, pp. 10c,
11b, and passim.

-224-

22.
T. Griffith Foulk, "The 'Ch'an School' and Its Place in the Buddhist Monastic Tradition", pp.
91-92 and passim.
23.
TSD, 80, 127a-127b.
24.
Dumoulin, Zen Buddhism:A History, 61-62.
25.
Carl Bielefeldt, "Recarving the Dragon: History and Dogma in the Study of Dōgen", p. 35.
26.
TSD, vol. 48, p. 387b; vol. 51, p. 291b. See also Isshō Miura and Ruth F. Sasaki , Zen Dust,
pp. 153-154.
27.
TSD, 48, 139c.
28.
TSD, 47, 503c; Ruth F. Sasaki, trans., The Record of Lin-chi, pp. 43-44.
29.
Robert E. Buswell, Jr., The 'Short-cut' Approach of K'an-hua Meditation:The Evolution of a
Practical Subitism in Chinese Ch'an Buddhism, p. 345.
30.
Ibid., p. 349.
31.
TSD, 48, 292c. There is no satisfactory way to translate Chao-chou's answer. A literal
rendering ("No") ignores the interpretation that the term has traditionally been given in
Ch'an/Zen. A philosophical rendering (such as "absolute Nothingness") is misleading in other
ways (see Thomas Dean, "Masao Abe's Zen and Western Thought", pp. 73-74). The original
Chinese pronunciation of Chao-chou's reply is wu, pronounced mu in Japanese. Although the
use of mu here violates conventions of scholarly consistency ( Chao-chou didn't speak
Japanese), Westerners are most familiar with this pronunciation.
32.
TSD, 48, 298a.
33.
TSD, 47, 504a; Sasaki, Record of Lin-chi, p. 46.
34.
TSD, 47, 504a; Sasaki, Record of Lin-chi, p. 45.

187
35.
Edward Conze, Buddhist Wisdom Books, p. 63; Trevor Leggett, The Warrior Koans, p. 167
(modified).
36.
Leggett, Warrior Koans, p. 131 (modified).
37.
Ibid., pp. 129-130 (modified).
38.
Ibid., p. 130.
39.
Ibid., pp. 42, 103-104, 112-113, and passim.
40.
Ibid., p. 1.
41.
Bielefeldt, Recarving the Dragon, p. 38.
42.
Leggett, Warrior Koans, pp. 24-26; TSD, 80, 87c.
43.
Leggett, Zen and the Ways, p. 67 (modified slightly).
44.
Collcutt, Five Mountains, p. 72.

5. Daitō Ascendant at Daitokuji

1.
DBZ, p. 268; TSD, 81, 223b.
2.
David Pollack, Zen Poems of the Five Mountains, p. 64.
3.
David Pollack, The Fracture of Meaning, p. 119.
4.
Daitō's earliest biographers vary considerably in attempting to date the move to Murasakino.
In Shunsaku's Exploits the move is undated; in Takuan's Chronicle it is 1315; in two
biographies it is 1319; in one it is "after 1321"; and in two others it is 1326. Katō Shōshun
weighs the evidence in "Kakushō Daitōden no idō ni tsuite", p. 83.
5.
Okuda Shōzō, Kōzen Daitō Kokushi nenpu, p. 27.
6.
Tayama Hōnan, ed., Daitokuji, plate 280, p. 274.
7.
The text of Hanazono's proclamation is given in Ogisu Jundō, Musō, Daitō, p. 164. Go-
Daigo's decree is reproduced in Tayama, Daitokuji, plate 308, p. 288. Both documents,
written by the emperors themselves, are extant.

-225-

8.
Hanazono's diary has been reprinted in a number of works. Two are used interchangeably in
this study: Nakatsuka Eijirō, ed., Shinkishō; and ōta Zen, ed., Shiryō sanshō:Hanazono Tennō
shinki.
9.

188
Nakatsuka, Shinkishō, 2, 424. Shunsaku reports two Daitō-Hanazono meetings, and Takuan
dates them as 1316, but the date given by Takuan is apparently seven years too early.
10.
See Andrew Goble, Truth, Contradiction and Harmony in Medieval Japan:Emperor
Hanazono (1297-1348) and Buddhism.
11.
ōta, Shiryō sanshō, 2, 10; Goble, Truth, Contradiction and Harmony in Medieval Japan, p.
28.
12.
Nakatsuka, Shinkishō, 2, 250. Some writers have mistakenly assumed that Hanazono's
references to Gatsurin were references to Daitō.
13.
ōta, Shiryō sanshō, 2, 162; Goble, Truth, Contradiction and Harmony in Medieval Japan, p.
43.
14.
Iwahashi Koyata, Hanazono Tennō, pp. 147-151.
15.
TSD, 81, 223b-223c.
16.
ōta, Shiryō sanshō, 2, 279; Goble, Truth, Contradiction and Harmony in Medieval Japan, p.
35.
17.
According to Takuan, the first meeting between Daitō and Go-Daigo took place in 1319 (
DBZ, p. 272), but the available evidence suggests that this date is about five years too early.
18.
TSD, 48, 154a; Thomas Cleary and J. C. Cleary, trans., The Blue Cliff Record, p. 89.
19.
Shunsaku does not refer to the debate by name or date ( TSD, 81, 223b); Takuan dates it 1323
( DBZ, p. 272); Kokai dates it 1324 ( Okuda, Kōzen Daitō Kokushi nenpu, p. 20). The 1325
date currently accepted gives credence to the report in the diary of Emperor Hanazono
( Nakatsuka, Shinkishō, 2, 539). Because of the uncertainty of the date, the debate is
sometimes called the "Genkō Debate," after the era that preceded the Shōchō period.
20.
The following account of the debate is drawn from Takuan's Chronicle ( DBZ, p. 272) and
Kokai's edition of the Chronicle ( Okuda, Kōzen Daitō Kokushi nenpu, p. 20).
21.
The phrase is attributed to Yang I ( 968-1024). For its citation in the Blue Cliff Record, see
TSD, 48, 183a; or Cleary and Cleary, Blue Cliff Record, p. 327. An earlier use of the phrase in
Japan is found in the writings of Lan-ch'i Taolung ( Trevor Leggett, Zen and the Ways, p. 61).
22.
Daigan Matsunaga and Alicia Matsunaga, Foundation of Japanese Buddhism, 1, 156.
23.
TSD, 48, 181c; Cleary and Cleary, Blue Cliff Record, p. 318.
24.
TSD, 48, 169a; Cleary and Cleary, Blue Cliff Record, p. 187.
25.
Shunsaku recounts this additional exchange (undated) but does not mention the Shōchō
Debate ( TSD, 81, 223b). Takuan recounts the Shōchō Debate but does not mention the
additional exchange ( DBZ, p. 272). Kokai includes both dialogues, dating the additional
exchange a year before the Shōchō Debate ( Okuda, Kōzen Daitō Kokushi nenpu, pp. 19-20).

189
26.
TSD, 81, 223b. Compare D. C. Lau, trans., Mencius, pp. 139-140.
27.
Kenneth Kraft, trans., "Musō Kokushi's Dialogues in a Dream", p. 93.
28.
TSD, 81, 223b.
29.
DBZ, p. 273.
30.
Ch'an-men kuei-shih, in TSD, 51, 251a.
31.
The kaidō quotations in this paragraph and the next are from TSD, 81, 191a.

-226-

32.
See, for example, Ruth F. Sasaki, trans., The Record of Lin-chi, p. 1. Ironically, Lin-chi's
disparagement of "customary etiquette" later became a formula used in kaidō ceremonies.
33.
TSD, 81, 191c.
34.
In 1325, at age fifty-one, Musō took over Nanzenji. In 1327 he became abbot of Jōchiji and
then Zuisenji. In 1329 he headed Engakuji, and in 1332 he headed Rinsenji. In 1334 he
headed Nanzenji again, in 1336 he headed Rinsenji again, and in 1339 he went to Saihōji. In
1340 Musō founded his own major monastery, Tenryōji, but he left Tenryōji in 1346 and went
to Ungo-an, where he died at age seventy-seven.
35.
TSD, 81, 206c.
36.
TSD, 81, 209c.
37.
DBZ, plate 51, p. 82.
38.
To compile the most inclusive list of Go-Daigo's proclamations regarding Daitokuji, one must
consult two sources: "Daitokuji monjo", in Dai Nihon komonjo, iewake 17, vol. 1; and Dai
Nihon shiryō, vol. 6, nos. 1, 2. Andrew Goble gives the dates of over twenty decrees
concerning the temple's landholdings (especially for the Tomono, Takaie, Urakami, and
Miyake estates) in Go- Daigo and the Kemmu Restoration, pp. 328-329, nn. 66, 68.
39.
Tayama, Daitokuji, plate 253, p. 255.
40.
Ibid., plate 306, p. 287.
41.
Ibid., plate 278, p. 273.
42.
Ibid., plate 307, p. 288.
43.
Ibid., plate 309, p. 289.
44.
Okuda, Kōzen Daitō Kokushi nenpu, pp. 30-31.

190
45.
TSD, 81, 216c.
46.
Okuda, Kōzen Daitō Kokushi nenpu, p. 18.
47.
TSD, 81, 223b.
48.
Okuda, Kōzen Daitō Kokushi nenpu, p. 32.
49.
TSD, 81, 214c. Chapter 25 of the Lotus Sutra states: "To those who can be conveyed to
deliverance by the body of the general of the gods he preaches Dharma by displaying the
body of the general of the gods" ( Leon Hurvitz, trans., Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the
Fine Dharma, p. 314).
50.
TSD, 81, 217c.
51.
Tayama, Daitokuji, plate 305, p. 287. The directives by emperors Go- Daigo and Hanazono
establishing Daitokuji's single-line succession set it apart from most of its peer monasteries. In
theory, this privilege was intended to preserve Daitō's style of Zen, though the ensuing lack of
access to talented monks from other lineages was at times a disadvantage for the monastery.
Today the injunction is interpreted loosely: most of Daitokuji's recent abbots have belonged to
the Myōshinji line of Daitō's heir Kanzan. In recognition of their abiding link with the
imperial family, the priests of Daitokuji still chant sutras for the "two courts" three times a
month.
52.
The granting of Daitō's earliest titles cannot be dated with precision. A 1912 history of
Daitokuji states that Hanazono awarded "Kōzen Daitō" after his first formal interview with
the master and that Go-Daigo awarded "Shōtō" after his meeting with Daitō at the palace
( Hirano Sōjō, Ryōhōzan Daitokuzenji seifu, pp. 88-89). Isshō Miura and Ruth F. Sasaki claim
that 1334 was the year that Hanazono conferred "Kōzen Daitō" and Go-Daigo conferred
"Kōshō Shōtō" ( Zen Dust, p. 234). According to the documentary evidence, however, these
estimates seem too early.
53.
Bakuryō hinmoku kaisetsu, p. 28.

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54.
In 1322Go-Daigo and Hanazono were involved in a mild dispute over land, and in
1324Hanazono was displeased by Go-Daigo's behavior in the aftermath of the antishogunal
plot. See Goble, "Go-Daigo and the Kemmu Restoration", pp. 90-93, 99.
55.
Nakatsuka, Shinkishō, vol. 2, pp. 350, 414; H. Paul Varley, Imperial Restoration in Medieval
Japan, p. 69.
56.
Nakatsuka, Shinkishō, 2, 576.
57.
Hirano Sōjō, Daitō, pp. 32, 38.

6. Enlightenment and Authenticity

191
1.
Adapted from Katō Ryōhō, Rinzaishō ni okeru zendō no seikatsu, pp. 81-82. The wandering
monk is traditionally identified as the Ch'an master Hsüeh-feng I-ts'un( 822-908) in his youth.
2.
John C. Maraldo, Is There Historical Consciousness within Ch'an? p. 159.
3.
Yanagida Seizan, Rinzai roku, p. 104; Ruth F. Sasaki, trans., The Record of Lin-chi, p. 14.
4.
"Bendōwa", in DZZ, 1, 734-735. Translation follows Norman Waddell and Abe Masao,
Dōgen's Benōwa, p. 140.
5.
TSD 48, 193a; Thomas Cleary and J. C. Cleary, trans., The Blue Cliff Record, p. 395.
6.
"Shōbōgenzō Genjō kōan (Treasury of the True Dharma Eye, Realized Koan fascicle)", in
DZZ, 1, 7.
7.
DZZ, 1, 7. Two scholars who make a point of translating shō as "authenticate" are Thomas P.
Kasulis, in Zen Action/Zen Person, p. 87, and Francis H. Cook , in Dōgen's View of Authentic
Selfhood, p. 133.
8.
One of several scholars who translate shō as "enlighten" is Thomas Cleary in Shōbōgenzō:
Zen Essays by Dōgen, p. 32.
9.
"Bendōwa", in DZZ, 1, 729.
10.
Carl Bielefeldt, Dōgen's Manuals of Zen Meditation, p. 130.
11.
"Butsudō", in DZZ, 1, 386; Carl Bielefeldt, Recarving the Dragon, p. 32.
12.
Daigan Matsunaga and Alicia Matsunaga, Foundation of Japanese Buddhism, 2, 187.
13.
Hee-jin Kim, Dōgen Kigen—Mystical Realist, p. 231.
14.
Heinrich Dumoulin, Zen Buddhism: A History, p. 36.
15.
Yanagida Seizan, Rinzai no kafō, p. 167.
16.
Bernard Faure, The Daruma-shō, Dōgen, and Sōtō Zen, p. 54.
17.
Cleary and Cleary, Blue Cliff Record, p. 154.
18.
D. T. Suzuki, Zen and Japanese Culture, p. 6.
19.
John R. McRae, The Northern School and the Formation of Early Ch'an Buddhism, p. 123
(modified slightly).
20.
Philip Yampolsky, trans., The Platform Sutra, p. 150.
21.

192
Though attributed to Bodhidharma, this stanza first appeared as a set formula in A Collection
from the Gardens of the Patriarchs (Tsu-t'ing shih-yüan), dated 1108. See Isshō Miura and
Ruth F. Sasaki, Zen Dust, pp. 229-230.
22.
In contemporary Japanese Zen, kenshō usually indicates the first experience of enlightenment
(however shallow), a meaning that is narrower than earlier uses of the term in Ch'an/Zen.
23.
Philip Kapleau, The Three Pillars of Zen, p. 194.
24.
Miyauchi Sotai et al., Kokuyaku Zengaku taisel, 23, 9. Translation follows Thomas Cleary,
trans., The Original Face:An Anthology of Rinzai Zen, pp. 29-30.

-228-

25.
Cleary, Shōbōgenzō, p. 49 (modified slightly).
26.
Neal Donner, Effort and Intuition: The Sudden and the Gradual Reconsidered, p. 10.
27.
Kenneth Kraft, trans., Musō Kokushi's Dialogues in a Dream, pp. 90- 91.
28.
Kapleau, Three Pillars of Zen, p. 186.
29.
Miyauchi, Kokuyaku Zengaku taisei, 23, 16.
30.
Ibid., 23, 5.
31.
Kapleau, Three Pillars of Zen, p. 177.
32.
Cleary, Shōbōgenzō, p. 53.
33.
Thomas Cleary, trans., Timeless Spring:A Sōtō Zen Anthology, pp. 113-114.
34.
Kapleau, Three Pillars of Zen, p. 170.
35.
Martin Collcutt, Five Mountains, p. 160.
36.
Kim, Dōgen Kigen, pp. 69, 331.
37.
"Shōbōgenzō Shizen biku (The Monk of Four Meditations)", in DZZ, 1, 708.
38.
Suzuki, Zen and Japanese Culture, p. 218.
39.
See Shunryu Suzuki, Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind, p. 73.
40.
Bielefeldt, Recarving the Dragon, p. 37.
41.
Personal correspondence from Sōgen Hori ( May 1989).
42.
Cleary, The Original Face, p. 27 (slightly modified).

193
 7. Clarifying the Essentials of Zen
1.
See, for example, Bernard Faure, The Daruma-shō, Dogen, and Sōtō Zen, pp. 52-55.
2.
"Kōzen gokokuron", in TSD, 80, 7b-7c; Faure, The Daruma-shō, Dōgen, and Sōtō Zen, p. 40.
3.
This statement may be truer for Japanese Zen than for Ch'an in China. The difficulties
encountered by scholars who attempt to define Ch'an in terms of its meditation practices are
summarized by T. Griffith Foulk in The 'Ch'an School' and Its Place in the Buddhist
Monastic Tradition, pp. 225-235.
4.
John R. McRae, The Northern School and the Formation of Early Ch'an Buddhism, p. 130.
The text attributed to Hung-jen was compiled by his disciples.
5.
Martin Collcutt, Five Mountains, p. 160.
6.
See Bernard Faure, The Concept of One-Practice Samādhi in Early Ch'an, pp. 99-128; and
Foulk, The 'Ch'an School' and Its Place, pp. 116- 130.
7.
Ruth F. Sasaki, trans., The Record of Lin-chi, pp. 19, 54.
8.
Kagamishima Genryō et al., Yakuchō Zen'en shingi, pp. 279-284.
9.
Eisai, "Kōzen gokokuron", in TSD, 80, 12a; Dōgen, "Fukan zazengi", in DZZ, 2, 4; Lan-ch'i,
"Zazenron", in Miyauchi Sotai et al., Kokuyaku Zengaku taisei, 23, 25; Enni, "Shōichi
Kokushi hōgo (Dharma Words of National Master Shōichi)", in Raiba Takudō , ed., Zenshō
seiten, p. 752.
10.
Lan-ch'i was praised by Musō. See Kenneth Kraft, trans., Musō Kokushi's Dialogues in a
Dream, p. 84.
11.
Collcutt, Five Mountains, pp. 159-160.
12.
"Zazenron", in Thomas Cleary, trans., The Original Face, pp. 21-22.
13.
DZZ, 1, 737. Compare Norman Waddell and Abe Masao, trans., Dogen's Bendōwa, p. 144.
14.
Carl Bielefeldt, Dōgen's Manuals of Zen Meditation, p. 169.
15.
"Zazenron", in Miyauchi, Kokuyaku Zengaku taisei, 23, 6; Cleary, The Original Face, p. 25.
16.
Cleary, The Original Face, p. 76.

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17.
Waddell and Abe, Dōgen's Bendōwa, p. 139.
18.

194
Hee-jin Kim, Dōgen Kigen—Mystical Realist, p. 74; Bielefeldt, Dōgen's Manuals of Zen
Meditation, p. 125.
19.
Kim, Dōgen Kigen, p. 75.
20.
TSD, 48, 292c-293a; Philip Kapleau, The Three Pillars of Zen, p. 76.
21.
McRae, The Northern School, p. 85.
22.
Isshō Miura and Ruth F. Sasaki, Zen Dust, p. 255.
23.
This account, recorded by Tsung-mi, was first brought to Japan by Saichō. Yanagida Seizan,
Daruma, pp. 59-60.
24.
"Transmission of the Lamp", in Yanagida, Daruma, pp. 61-62. In reference to this story,
Dōgen titled one of his Shōbōgenzō fascicles "Obtaining the Marrow Through Bowing" (
Raihai tokuzui).
25.
Philip Yampolsky, trans., The Platform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch, p. 133.
26.
Ruth F. Sasaki, trans., The Record of Lin-chi, p. 56.
27.
Foulk, The 'Ch'an School' and Its Place, pp. 72-73, 129.
28.
Tayama Hōnan, ed., Daitokuji, plate 271, p. 268.
29.
Kyoto National Museum, Zen no bijutsu, plate 28, p. 60.
30.
"Shōbōgenzō Shisho (Documents of Succession)", in DZZ, 1, 338-339.
31.
DBZ, plate 10, p. 20, translated by Norman Waddell, in DBZ, p. 300.
32.
Yanagida Seizan, Ikkyū: Kyōunshō no sekai, p. 172.
33.
"Hōkyōki"31, in DZZ, 2, 384.
34.
These and other robes from the period were exhibited by the Kyoto National Museum in 1981
and catalogued in its publication Zen no bijutsu, pp. 73-80.
35.
Faure, The Daruma-shō, Dōgen, and Sōtō Zen, pp. 35-38. See also Philip Yampolsky, The
Development of Japanese Zen, p. 142.
36.
James H. Sanford, Zen-man Ikkyū, p. 51. Even if apocryphal, this account seems to capture
Ikkyfi's attitude toward seals of enlightenment.
37.
Collcutt, Five Mountains, p. 153.
38.
"Hōkyōki 32", in DZZ, 2, 383, translated in Foulk, The 'Ch'an School' and Its Place, p. 65
(modified slightly).
39.

195
Eisai wrote Essentials for Monks (Shukke taikō) in 1195. Dōgen composed regulations
throughout his teaching career, such as his "Precepts for the Head Cook" ( Tenzo kyōkun,
1237). In 1278 Lan-ch'i created codes for two different temples, Jōrakuji and Kenchōji, and in
1339 Musō wrote his Rinsenji Code (Rinsen kakun).
40.
Yuho Yokoi, trans., Regulations for Monastic Life by Eihei Dogen, pp. 30-31 (modified).
41.
T. Griffith Foulk, The Zen Institution in Modern Japan, p. 169.
42.
D. T. Suzuki, Manual of Zen Buddhism, pp. 146-147 (modified slightly).
43.
Cleary, The Original Face, p. 78.
44.
Waddell and Abe, Dōgen's Bendōwa, pp. 148, 149.
45.
"Shōbōgenzō Sanjushichihon-bodaibunpō (Thirty-seven Virtues of Bodhisattvahood)", in
DZZ, 1, 511-513.
46.
"Shōbōgenzō Shukke kudoku (Merits of Monkhood)", in DZZ, 1, 608.
47.
Foulk, The 'Ch'an School' and Its Place, p. 82.
48.
Yampolsky, The Development of Japanese Zen, p. 143.
49.
Shibayama Zenkei, ed., Zenrin kushō, p. 267.
50.
"Hōkyōki"32, in DZZ, 2, 383.
51.
Suzuki, Manual of Zen Buddhism, p. 46.
52.
Foulk, The 'Ch'an School' and Its Place, p. 90.
53.
Collcutt, Five Mountains, pp. 188-189.
54.
TSD, 80, 94b.

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55.
Collcutt, Five Mountains, p. 154.
56.
Waddell and Abe, "Dōgen's Bendōwa", p. 144.
57.
Scholars cannot determine with certainty which master built the earliest Sung-style monks'
hall. One problem is that the eagerness of the Zen pioneers (or their heirs) to claim credit for
the first monks' hall in Japan may have led to distortions in the historical records. In addition,
variant structures like Eisai's monks' hall at Kenninji, which incorporated Tendai and Shingon
elements, are difficult to assess. Hee-jin Kim claims that the Kōshōji monks' hall, built by
Dōgen in 1236, was the first ( Dōgen Kigen, p. 251); Yokoyama Hideya quotes Dōgen

196
(without citing a source) to the effect that the Eiheiji monks' hall of 1244 was the first ( Zen
no kenchiku, p.177).
58.
Collcutt, Five Mountains, p. 193.
59.
Ching-te ch'uan-teng lu, ch. 28, in TSD, 51, 444.
60.
Miura and Sasaki, Zen Dust, p. 250.
61.
Cited by Dōgen in Zuimonki (Gleanings) 5:14, in DZZ, 2, 477.
62.
Sasaki, Record of Lin-chi, p. 22.
63.
Ibid., pp. 41, 49.
64.
TSD, 82, 380a.
65.
Rinsen kakun, cited in Collcutt, Five Mountains, pp. 153, 160.
66.
Shōbōgenzō Gyōji (Continuous Practice) 2, in DZZ, 1, 153.
67.
Zuimonki 5:14, in DZZ, 2, 477.
68.
Haga Kōshirō et al., "Japanese Zen," p. 82. Other depictions of Dōgen as a seeker of seclusion
are found in Kim, Dōgen Kigen, p. 228, and George San som , A History of Japan to 1334,
pp. 429-430.
69.
Furuta Shōkin, Nihon Bukkyō shisō-shi no shōmondai, pp. 154-155; Carl Bielefeldt ,
Recarving the Dragon, pp. 40-41.
70.
Furuta Shōkin, Bassui, p. 273.
71.
Cited in Ogisu Jundō, Nihon chōsei Zenshō-shi, p. 95.
72.
Haga, "Japanese Zen," p. 91 (modified slightly).
73.
Sanford, Zen-man Ikkyū, p. 48.
74.
Thomas P. Kasulis, "The Incomparable Philosopher: Dōgen on How to Read the
Shōbōgenzō," p. 93.
75.
Faure, "The Daruma-shō, Dōgen, and Sōtō Zen," p. 53.

8. Daitō's Zen: The Primacy of Awakening

1.
Scroll dated Kenmu 3 [ 1336], in DBZ, plate 73, p. 113, translated by Norman Waddell in
DBZ, p. 291.
2.
Daitō Kokushi hōgo (Dharma Words of National Master Daitō), in Raiba Takudō , Zenshō
seiten, p. 744.

197
3.
TSD, 81, 192a.
4.
Scroll dated Gentoku 2 [ 1332], in DBZ, plate 72, p. 112, translated by Norman Waddell in
DBZ, p. 290.
5.
Raiba, Zenshō seiten, p. 741.
6.
Ibid., pp. 748, 740.
7.
Ibid., p. 749.
8.
Scroll dated Kenmu 4 [ 1337], in DBZ, plate 64, p. 105, translated by Norman Waddell in
DBZ, p. 293.
9.
Raiba, Zenshō seiten, p. 740.
10.
Ibid., pp. 745-746.
11.
DBZ, p. 271. Daitō also discusses kenshō at some length in Shōunyawa (Evening Dialogue at
Shōun-an), which purports to record a conversation between Daitō and another teacher. See
Hirano Sōjō, Daitō, pp. 377, 379, 390.

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12.
Raiba, Zenshō seiten, p. 743.
13.
Ibid., pp. 743-751.
14.
Hirano Sōjō, Daitō Zen no tankyō, p. 61.
15.
DBZ, pp. 274, 275. Though the first textual evidence for Daitō's "Final Admonitions" is found
in Takuan's biography of 1617, there are references to the work in earlier texts, such as the
first biography of Daitō in 1426 ( TSD, 81, 224a-224b) and the poetry of Ikkyū;. Scholars
accordingly accept the traditional attribution to Daitō.
16.
DBZ, p. 275.
17.
Raiba, Zenshō seiten, p. 743.
18.
Ibid., p. 743.
19.
Ibid., p. 745.
20.
DBZ, p. 274.
21.
DBZ, p. 27.
22.
Raiba, Zenshō seiten, p. 739.

198
23.
Ibid., p. 749.
24.
Ibid., p. 744.
25.
Ibid., p. 739.
26.
Ibid., p. 746.
27.
Ibid., p. 746.
28.
Ibid., p. 749.
29.
Hirano, Daitō Zen no tankyō, p. 63.
30.
Raiba, Zenshō seiten, p. 748.
31.
TSD, 81, 224a.
32.
TSD, 81, 209a.
33.
Raiba, Zenshō seiten, p. 743.
34.
Colophon to Daitō's transcription of the Transmission of the Lamp, translated by Norman
Waddell in DBZ, p. 295.
35.
Scroll dated Kenmu 3 [ 1336], in DBZ, plate 73, p. 113, translated by Norman Waddell in
DBZ, p. 291.
36.
Okuda Shōzō, Kōzen Daitō Kokushi nenpu, pp. 37-38.
37.
Scroll dated Kenmu 4 [ 1337], in DBZ, plate 65, p. 106, translated by Norman Waddell in
DBZ, p. 292 (slightly modified).
38.
Scroll dated Karyaku 4 [ 1329], in DBZ, plate 52, p. 84, translated by Norman Waddell in
DBZ, p. 294.
39.
Scroll dated Kenmu 4 [ 1337], in DBZ, plate 66, p. 107, translated by Norman Waddell in
DBZ, p. 292 (slightly modified).
40.
Scroll dated Shōchō 2 [ 1325], in DBZ, plate 50, p. 81, translated by Norman Waddell in DBZ,
p. 295.
41.
Hirano Sōjō, Ryōhōzan Daitokuji seifu, p. 6.
42.
Yanagida Seizan, Rinzai no kafō, pp. 176-177.
43.
Ogisu Jundō, Nihon chōsei Zenshō-shi, p. 232.
44.
Raiba, Zenshō seiten, p. 750.

199
45.
Ibid., p. 740.
46.
Ibid., p. 742.
47.
Ibid., p. 750.
48.
Okuda, Kōzen Daitō Kokushi nenpu, p. 22; decree by Emperor Go-Daigo, in Tayama Hōnan,
ed., Daitokuji, plate 253, p. 255.
49.
TSD, 81, 191a.
50.
TSD, 81, 199b.
51.
Raiba, Zenshō seiten, p. 748.
52.
DBZ, p. 275.

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53.
Daitō's first biographer gives a brief description of the master's teaching style ( TSD, 81,
224b), but the portrait is so idealized and the language so formulaic that it reveals little.
54.
Inscription for a portrait dated Karyaku 2 [ 1327], in DBZ, plate 35, p. 49, translated by
Norman Waddell in DBZ, p. 295 (slightly modified).
55.
Portrait inscription by Emperor Go-Daigo, DBZ, plate 39, p. 53; portions of this translation
follow Norman Waddell, DBZ, p. 296.
56.
DBZ, plate 51, p. 83, translated by Norman Waddell in DBZ, p. 294 (slightly modified).
57.
See, for example, Takeuchi Yoshinori, "The Philosophy of Nishida," in Frederick Franck, ed.,
The Buddha Eye, p. 194.
58.
ōta Zen, ed., Shiryō sanshō: Hanazono Tennō shinki, vol. 3, pp. 12, 25; An drew Goble ,
"Truth, Contradiction and Harmony in Medieval Japan," p. 45.
59.
DBZ, p. 272.
60.
Undated scroll, DBZ, plate 70, p. 110, translated by Norman Waddell in DBZ, p. 292.
61.
Undated scroll in Morita Shiryō, ed., Bokubi, no. 165, plate 16, pp. 26-27.
62.
Kenneth Kraft, trans., "Musō Kokushi's Dialogues in a Dream," p. 93.

9. Capping-Phrase Commentary in the Works of Daitō

1.
TSD, 47, 614b.
2.

200
Thomas Cleary and J. C. Cleary, trans., The Blue Cliff Record, p. 59 (modified slightly).
3.
Trevor Leggett, The Warrior Koans, pp. 69-71 and passim.
4.
John R. McRae, "Ch'an Commentaries on the Heart Sōtra: Preliminary Inferences on the
Permutation of Chinese Buddhism," p. 99.
5.
These five terms from the Blue Cliff Record appear in the following cases, respectively: case
4 ( TSD, 48, 143b), case 17 ( TSD, 48, 157b), case 8 ( TSD, 48, 148b), case 83 ( TSD, 48,
209a), and case 86 ( TSD, 48, 211b).
6.
See Tsuchiya Etsudō, ed., Zenrin segoshō.
7.
Personal correspondence from Sōgen Hori ( May 1989).
8.
Webster's New International Dictionary, p. 395.
9.
Yanagida Seizan, Rinzai no kafō, p. 175.
10.
Shibayama Zenkei, ed., Zenrin kushō, p. 189.
11.
Jon Carter Covell and Yamada Sōbin, Zen at Daitoku-ji, p. 28.
12.
Shibayama, Zenrin kushō, p. 72.
13.
TSD, 47, 505b; Ruth F. Sasaki, trans., The Record of Lin-chi, p. 54.
14.
Sasaki, Record of Lin-chi, p. 86.
15.
All the capping phrases in the following selection appear again in Chapter 12. There they are
given a number that leads to their characters (Appendix II) and their sources (Appendix III).
The phrases cited here are 135, 137; 107, 165, 46, 104; 6, 7; 19, 15, 23; 64; 24, 45; 41, 38;
187, 49, 55, 56; 52; 44; 109; 77; 105; 188; 130, 196; 86, 88; 189, 126, 118; 179, 172; 119;
181, 161, and 1; respectively.
16.
Hirano Sōjō, "Daitō Kokushi agyo no kenkyō: I," p. 64.
17.
Daitō's One Hundred Twenty Cases is discussed in Appendix I.
18.
Hirano, "Daitō Kokushi agyo no kenkyō: I," p. 62. The full version of the text, with Daitō's
capping phrases, continues in the following manner:

The monk said, "Even creeping creatures all have Buddha-nature. Why wouldn't a dog have
Buddha-nature?"

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Why doesn't he get control of himself and leave?

Chao-chou said, "Because it has its karmic nature." The old thief has met complete defeat.

201
19.
See Chapter 4, note 31.
20.
TSD, 81, 191b.
21.
Cleary and Cleary, Blue Cliff Record, p. 302.
22.
Ibid., p. 301.
23.
TSD, 81, 224c.
24.
TSD, 47, 673c.
25.
TSD, vol. 81, pp. 196a, 200a, 203b, 206a, 212a, 216, 217c.
26.
Phrases 79, 86, and 83 in Chapter 12.

10. "His Tongue Has No Bones"

1.
Cited in Robert M. Gimello, "Wen-tzu Ch'an and K'an-hua Ch'an: Buddhism in the
Transition from Northern to Southern Sung Literati Culture," p. 3.
2.
Ibid., pp. 13-14 and passim. See also Robert M. Gimello, "Poetry and the Kung-an in Ch'an
Practice," pp. 9-10; and Robert E. Buswell, Jr., "The 'Short-cut' Approach of K'an-hua
Meditation," p. 345.
3.
An early Japanese reference to moji Zen is cited in Haga Kōshirō, Chzōsei Zenrin no
gakumon oyobi bungaku ni kansuru kenkyō, p. 253. Another pertinent Ch'an/Zen term is
gonsen (Ch. yen-ch'üan), "the investigation of words." Through gonsen, one may achieve an
insightful understanding of language and an ability to use words skillfully. Whereas moji Zen
had broad application, gonsen was a technical term related to koan practice.
4.
The Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, 2, 641.
5.
Yanagida Seizan, "Japanese Zen and the Turning of the Seasons," p.21.
6.
Burton Watson, Zen Poetry, p. 115.
7.
Ibid., p. 111; Shibayama Zenkei, ed., Giōko fugetsu shō, p. 46. Another translation is offered
by David Pollack in Zen Poems of the Five Mountains, p. 7.
8.
This text, known as the Tai-pieh (Daibetsu) of Hsü-t'ang, is included in his discourse record:
TSD, 47, 1024b-1034b.
9.
TSD, 80, 7b-7c. Portions of this rendering follow a translation by Philip Yampolsky, cited in
Bernard Faure, "The Daruma-shiō, Dōgen, and Sōtō Zen," pp. 39-40.
10.
TSD, 80, 10c.
11.
TSD, 80, 11b.

202
12.
Faure, "The Daruma-shō, Dōgen, and Sōtō Zen," p. 42.
13.
Shōbōgenzō Bukkyō (Buddhist Teachings), in DZZ, 1, 308; Shōbōgenzō Bukkyō (Buddhist
Sutras), in DZZ, 1, 405.
14.
DZZ, 1, 741; Norman Waddell and Abe Masao, trans., "Dōgen's Bendōwa," p. 149.
15.
Cited in Tamamura Takeji, Musō Kokushi, p. 129.
16.
Nakatsuka Eijirō, ed., Shinkishō, 2, 576.
17.
Kenneth Kraft, trans., "Musō Kokushi's Dialogues in a Dream," p. 92. Here the character zen
refers to dhyāna meditation as well as the Zen school, just as kyō refers simultaneously to the
teachings, the doctrinal schools, and the sutras.
18.
See Stephen D. Miller, "Religious Boundaries in Aesthetic Domains: A Study of Buddhist
Poetry (Shakkyō-ka) in the Late Heian and Early Kamakura Periods.".

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19.
Cited in Gary L. Ebersole, "The Buddhist Ritual Use of Linked Poetry in Medieval Japan", p.
61.
20.
Ibid., pp. 50-71.
21.
Donald Keene, "The Comic Tradition in Renga", pp. 243-244.
22.
Ibid., p. 244.
23.
David Pollack, The Fracture of Meaning, p. 125.
24.
Yanagida, "Japanese Zen and the Turning of the Seasons", p. 20.
25.
Cited in Pollack, The Fracture of Meaning, p. 116.
26.
Haga, Chōsei Zenrin no gakumon, pp. 245-256.
27.
Ibid., p. 250.
28.
Cited in Watson, "Zen Poetry", p. 115.
29.
Cited in Pollack, The Fracture of Meaning, p. 123.
30.
TSD, 80, 503c; Pollack, The Fracture of Meaning, p. 129.
31.
Andrew Goble, "Truth, Contradiction and Harmony in Medieval Japan", pp. 48-49; Haga,
Chōsei Zenrin no gakumon, p. 396.
32.

203
Haga, Chōsei Zenrin no gakumon, pp. 395, 397.
33.
Goble, "Truth, Contradiction and Harmony in Medieval Japan", p. 52.
34.
TSD, 81, 554a, translated by Norman Waddell (unpublished manuscript; slightly modified).
35.
SD, 81, 559b, translated by Norman Waddell (unpublished manuscript; slightly modified).
36.
TSD, 81, 218a.
37.
TSD, 81, 554c.
38.
Yōgyōkyōginka, in Hirano Sōjō, Daitō Zen no tankyō, p. 73. Further information about
Yōgyōkyōginka is found in Appendix I.
39.
Yōgyōkyōginka, in Hirano, Daitō Zen no tankyō, p. 60.
40.
TSD, 81, 213c.
41.
Hsüeh-tou's verse is quoted in the Record of Daitō. See TSD, 81, 213b. See also Yanagida,
"Japanese Zen and the Turning of the Seasons", p. 29.
42.
TSD, 81, 213c; Yanagida, "Japanese Zen and the Turning of the Seasons", p. 30.
43.
Yōgyōkyōginka, in Hirano, Daitō Zen no tankyō, p. 68.
44.
Chapter 12 includes several instances in which Daitō commented on the same koan using
capping phrases and poems (in different works). Compare poem 14 and case 5; poem 20 and
case 10; poem 15 and cases 18, 19; and poem 24 and cases 14, 15.
45.
For example, see poem 13 in Chapter 12.
46.
Yōgyōkyōginka, in Hirano, Daitō Zen no tankyō, p. 75.
47.
Ibid., p. 72.
48.
Ching-te ch'uan-teng lu, ch. 16, in TSD, 51, 328b.
49.
Shibayama Zenkei, Zen Comments on the Mumonkan, p. 101.
50.
DBZ, p. 60, translated by Norman Waddell in DBZ, p. 295.
51.
Ching-te ch'uan-teng lu, ch. 9, in TSD, 51, 268a.
52.
Hirano Sōjō, Daitō, p. 379.
53.
DBZ, plate 55, p. 87.
54.
Raiba Takudō, Zenshō seiten, p. 746.
55.

204
Thomas Cleary and J. C. Cleary, trans., The Blue Cliff Record, p. 33.
56.
T. Griffith Foulk, "The 'Ch'an School' and Its Place in the Buddhist Monastic Tradition", p.
228.
57.
Robert E. Buswell, Jr., "The 'Short-cut' Approach of K'an-hua Meditation", p. 336.

-235-

58.
Raiba, Zenshō seiten, pp. 749-750.
59.
Gateless Barrier (Wu-men-kuan), case 24, in TSD, 48, 296a.
60.
TSD, 81, 197b.
61.
Pollack, The Fracture of Meaning, p. 131.
62.
Edward Conze, Buddhist Wisdom Books, p. 63; Trevor Leggett, The Warrior Koans, p. 167
(modified).
63.
Yōgyōkyōginka, in Hirano, Daitō Zen no tankyō., p. 64.
64.
Dale S. Wright, "Rethinking Transcendence:"The Role of Language in Zen Experience, p. 13.
65.
Ibid., p. 21.
66.
Raiba, Zenshō seiten, p. 746.
67.
John C. H. Wu, The Golden Age of Zen, p. 214.

11. Daitō's Impact

1.
TSD, 81, 224a.
2.
Raiba Takudō, Zenshō seiten, p. 1179.
3.
DBZ, plates 67 and 68, pp. 108-109.
4.
TSD, 51, 291a. This death poem is found in the Sung edition of the Transmission of the Lamp
but not in the Record of Lin-chi. For another use of "the sword that splits a wind-blown hair,"
see Robert E. Buswell, Jr., "The 'Shortcut' Approach of K'an-hua Meditation", p. 335.
5.
DBZ, p. 109.
6.
Okuda Shōzō, Kōzen Daitō Kokushi nenpu, p. 22.
7.
Ogisu Jundō, Musō, Daitō, p. 170. Ogisu identifies Ch'ing-cho Chengch'eng ( Ta-chien, 1274-
1339) as the period's other influential master.
8.

205
Reported in Takuan's Chronicle, DBZ, p. 275a.
9.
Ogisu, Musō, Daitō, p. 169.
10.
DBZ, p. 276c.
11.
TSD, 81, 224a-224b. The slab of incense offered by Ch'ing-cho is preserved at Daitokuji.
12.
TSD, 81, 224a.
13.
Ogisu, Musō, Daitō, p. 171. One koku is equivalent to 44.8 gallons or 180 liters.
Approximately 3.5 koku were said to support a monk for one year.
14.
Martin Collcutt, Five Mountains, p. 265.
15.
Ibid., p. 269.
16.
Okuda, Kōzen Daitō Kokushi nenpu, pp. 14, 38.
17.
Tayama Hōnan, ed., Daitokuji, plate 253, p. 255.
18.
TSD, 81, 217a.
19.
Takenuki Genshō, "Rinka ni okeru kyōdan keiei ni tsuite", pp. 132- 133.
20.
Collcutt, Five Mountains, pp. 222-224.
21.
Tamamura Takeji, Musō Kokushi, p. 83.
22.
Hirano Sōjō, Daitō Zen no tankyō, p. 154.
23.
Isshō Miura and Ruth F. Sasaki, Zen Dust, p. 326.
24.
Heinrich Dumoulin, Zen Buddhism:A History, p. 191.
25.
Collcutt, Five Mountains, p. xviii.
26.
Ibid., p. 269.
27.
TSD, 81, 223b.
28.
Katō Shō'ichi and Yanagida Seizan, Ikkyū, p. 73. Translation adapted from James H. Sanford,
Zen-man Ikkyū, p. 99.
29.
Ariyoshi Sawako and Kobori Nanrei, Kojijunrei:Daitokuji, p. 108. Com pare Sanford , Zen-
man Ikkyū, p. 99.
30.
Translation follows Miura and Sasaki, Zen Dust, p. 140.

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206
31.
TSD, 81, 558c. Translated by Norman Waddell (unpublished manuscript).
32.
Norman Waddell, trans., "Wild Ivy (Itsumadegusa):"The Spiritual Autobiography of Hakuin
Ekaku (II), pp. 132-133, slightly modified. The poem Hakuin attributes to Daitō does not
appear elsewhere in Daitō's writings.
33.
TSD, vol. 81, pp. 558c, 579a.
34.
Yanagida Seizan and Katō Shōshun, Hakuin, p. 93.
35.
See, for example, Maruoka Sōnan, ed., Daitokuji bokuseki zenshō; Kyoto National Museum ,
Zen no bijutsu; Nakada Yujirō, ed., Shodō geijutsu17; Morita Shiryō , ed., Bokubi165.
36.
Jan Fontein and Money L. Hickman, Zen Painting and Calligraphy, p. xliv.
37.
T. Griffith Foulk, "The Zen Institution in Modern Japan", p. 158. These figures are based on a
religious census taken in 1984.
38.
Kajitani Sōnin, Shōmon kattōshō, pp. 231, 321, 375.
39.
Akizuki Ryōmin, Zen nyōmon, p. 160.
40.
TSD, 47, 497a; Ruth F. Sasaki, trans., The Record of Lin-chi, p. 6.
41.
Hakuin's idiosyncratic capping phrases are the exception that proves the rule. He may have
consciously resisted the increasing formalization of the genre.
42.
Daitō's death is commemorated in November even though he died in the "twelfth month."
This schedule reduces proximity with Kanzan's death anniversary (commemorated on
December 12 at Myōshinji) and avoids the bitter cold of the unheated Dharma hall in late
December.
43.
During the Tokugawa era, one of the fifty-year anniversaries was held four years early to
accommodate an abbot close to death, and that change determined the pattern of the ensuing
fifty-year cycles.
44.
The title granted by Emperor Shōwa (following a formal recommendation by the head abbot
of Daitokuji) was "Reiki Inshō." Fifty years earlier Emperor Shōwa had given Daitō; the title
"Genkaku Kōen." The practice of granting "National Master" (Kokushi) titles to Daitō,
initiated by emperors GoDaigo and Hanazono, was renewed in 1686. It has yielded a title with
over thirty characters: "Kōzen Daitō Kōshō Shōtō Daiji Unkyōshin Kōkan Jōmyō Enman
Jōkō Daichi Shōkai Genkaku Kōen Reiki Inshō Kokushi" (see Glossary). When this title is
chanted by the monks of Daitokuji, they use a variant pronunciation: "Kinzen Daiten Kōshō
Shinten Daizu Inkyōshin Wankan Jōmin Enmon Jinkō Daishi Shinkai Engaku ōen Rinki Inshō
Kokushi."
45.
The first volume of Daitokuji bokuseki zenshō, edited by Maruoka Sōnan, appeared in 1984;
the first volume of Daitokuji Zengoroku shōsei, edited by Daitokuji, appeared in 1989.
46.

207
TSD, 81, 223a. Daitō recorded this phrase on the scroll containing his enlightenment verses (
DBZ, plate 43, p. 56).
47.
DBZ, plate 39, p. 53.
48.
A description by Kokai, editor of Takuan's Chronicle ( Okuda, Kōzen Daitō Kokushi nenpu,
p. 38).
49.
Haga Kōshirō et al., "Japanese Zen", p. 97.
50.
Ogisu, Musō, Daitō, p. 196.
51.
Hirano Sōjō, Ikkyū Sōjun, pp. 60-61. For discussions of Musō's character, see Furuta Shōkin,
Zensō no shōji, p. 186; Tsuji Zennosuke, Buke jidai to Zensō, p. 103.
52.
Furuta Shōkin, "Kaisetsu", p. 169.
53.
DBZ, plate 38, p. 52.
54.
Sanford, Zen-man Ikkyū, p. 144 (modified slightly).

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55.
Hirano Sōjō, Daitō, p. 32; Furuta, "Kaisetsu", p. 169.
56.
Okuda, Kōzen Daitō Kokushi nenpu, p. 51.

12. Translations
1.
Yōgyōkyōginka, in Hirano Sōjō, Daitō Zen no tankyō, p. 59.
2.
Ibid., p. 60.
3.
TSD, 81, 209c.
4.
TSD, 81, 218a.
5.
Yōgyōkyōginka, in Hirano, Daitō Zen no tankyō, p. 63.
6.
Ibid., p. 59.
7.
TSD, 81, 223a; DBZ, p. 56.
8.
TSD, 81, 223a; DBZ, p. 56.
9.
TSD, 81, 192a.
10.
Yōgyōkyōginka, in Hirano, Daitō Zen no tankyō, p. 72.
11.

208
Ibid., p. 65.
12.
TSD, 81, 213c; Yanagida Seizan, "Japanese Zen and the Turning of the Seasons", p. 29.
13.
TSD, 81, 218c.
14.
Ibid., p. 218b.
15.
Ibid., p. 218b.
16.
Yōgyōkyōginka, in Hirano, Daitō Zen no tankyō, p. 73.
17.
TSD, 81, 218b-218c.
18.
Yōgyōkyōginka, in Hirano, Daitō Zen no tankyō, p. 61.
19.
TSD, 81, 218a.
20.
Ibid., p. 218b.
21.
Yōgyōkyōginka, in Hirano, Daitō Zen no tankyō, p. 75.
22.
TSD, 81, 218b.
23.
Yōgyōkyōginka, in Hirano, Daitō Zen no tankyō, p. 75.
24.
TSD, 81, 218a.
25.
Yōgyōkyōginka, in Hirano, Daitō Zen no tankyō, p. 68.
26.
TSD, 81, 199b.
27.
DBZ, plates 67 and 68, pp. 108-109.
28.
Yōgyōkyōginka, in Hirano, Daitō Zen no tankyō, p. 74.
29.
Ibid., p. 64.
30.
Bibliographic information on these two works is found in Appendix I.
31.
Hyakunijussoku, case 23, in Hirano Sōjō, "Daitō Kokushi agyo no kenkya:"I, p. 64. Chinese
source: Record of Lin-chi ( TSD, 47, 504c; Ruth F. Sasaki, trans., The Record of Lin-chi, p.
50). Phrase 96 in Appendix II.
32.
Hyakunijussoku, case 118, in Hirano, "Daitō Kokushi agyo:"I, p. 74. Chinese source:
Transmission of the Lamp ( TSD, 51, 362a). Phrase 4 in Appendix II.
33.
Hyakunijussoku, case 26, in Hirano, "Daitō Kokushi agyo:"I, p. 64. Chinese source: Record of
Lin-chi ( TSD, 47, 497a; Sasaki, Record of Lin-chi, p. 5). Phrase 130 in Appendix II.
34.

209
Hyakunijussoku, case 1, in Hirano, "Daitō Kokushi agyo:"I, p. 61. Chinese source: Gateless
Barrier ( TSD, 48, 297c; Katsuki Sekida, Two Zen Classics, p. 112). Phrases 56, 107, and 51,
respectively, in Appendix II.
35.
Hekigan agyo, case 37, in Hirano, Daitō Kokushi agyo:I, p. 51. Chinese source: Blue Cliff
Record, case 37 ( TSD, 48, 175a; Thomas Cleary and J. C. Cleary, trans., The Blue Cliff
Record, p. 274). Phrases 189, 49, 201, 202 in Appendix II.
36.
Hyakunijussoku, case 101, in Hirano, "Daitō Kokushi agyo:"I, p. 72. Chinese source: Blue
Cliff Record, case 15, Yōan-wu's commentary ( TSD, 48,155c

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155c; Cleary and Cleary, Blue Cliff Record, p. 101). Phrases 203-205 in Appendix II.
37.
Hyakunjiussoku, case 21, in Hirano, "Daitō Kokushi agyo:"I, p. 64. Chinese source: Gateless
Barrier, case 47 ( TSD, 48, 298c; Sekida, Two Zen Classics, p. 131). Phrases 94, 97, 97 in
Appendix II.
38.
Hyakunijussoku, case 99, in Hirano, "Daitō Kokushi agyo:"I, p. 72. Chinese source: Record of
Lin-chi ( TSD, 47, 497a; Sasaki, Record of Lin-chi, p. 6). Phrases 140, 78, 108, 120 in
Appendix II.
39.
Hyakunijussoku, case 31, in Hirano, "Daitō Kokushi agyo:"I, p. 65. Chinese source: Record of
Hsō-t'ang ( TSD, 47, 986c). Phrases 206, 207 in Appendix II.
40.
Hekigan agyo, case 13, in Hirano, "Daitō Kokushi agyo:"I, p. 49. Chinese source: Blue Cliff
Record, case 13( TSD, 48, 153c; Cleary and Cleary, Blue Cliff Record, p. 88). Phrases 208,
209, 115, 128 in Appendix Il.
41.
Hyakunijussoku, case 6, in Hirano, "Daitō Kokushi agyo:"I, p. 62. A shorter version of this
koan is the first case of the Gateless Barrier; the longer version is found in the Record of
Equanimity (Ts'ung-jung lu), case 18 ( TSD, 48, 238b). Phrases 162, 207, 210, 211, 23, 149 in
Appendix II.
42.
Hyakunijussoku, case 48, in Hirano, "Daitō Kokushi agyo:"I, p. 67. Chinese source: Gateless
Barrier, case 7 ( TSD, 48, 293c; Sekida, Two Zen Classics, p. 44). Phrases 164, 185, 163, 35,
201 in Appendix II.
43.
Hyakunijussoku, case 67, in Hirano, "Daitō Kokushi agyo:"I, p. 69. Chinese source: Blue Cliff
Record, case 1 ( TSD, 48, 140a; Cleary and Cleary, Blue Cliff Record, p. 1). Phrases 212, 126,
213, 101, 27, 210, 94 in Appendix 11.
44.
Hyakunijussoku, case 108, in Hirano, "Daitō Kokushi agyo:"I, p. 73. Chinese source: Blue
Cliff Record, case 29 ( TSD, 48, 169a; Cleary and Cleary, Blue Cliff Record, p. 187). Phrases
185, 214, 185, 26, 35 in Appendix II.
45.
Hekigan agyo, case 29, in Hirano, "Daitō Kokushi agyo:"I, p. 50. For Blue Cliff Record
source, see preceding note. Phrases 55, 215, 179, 24, 25, 216 in Appendix II.
46.

210
Hyakunijussoku, case 2, in Hirano, "Daitō Kokushi agyo: I", p. 61. Chinese source: Blue Cliff
Record, case 8 ( TSD, 48, 148b; Cleary and Cleary, Blue Cliff Record, p. 53). Phrases 130,
197, 62, 110, 217, 52, 152, 106, 57, 147, 151, 218 in Appendix II.
47.
Hekigan agyo, case 8, in Hirano, "Daitō Kokushi agyo:"I, p. 48. For Blue Cliff Record source,
see preceding note. Phrases 184, 219, 48, 32, 102, 103, 153, 56, 152, 11 in Appendix II.
48.
Hyakunijussoku, case 74, in Hirano, "Daitō Kokushi agyo:"I, p. 70. Chinese source: Blue Cliff
Record, case 23 ( TSD, 48, 164a; Cleary and Cleary, Blue Cliff Record, p. 154). Phrases 220,
221, 138, 104, 155, 11, 222 in Appendix II.
49.
Hekigan agyo, case 23, in Hirano, "Daitō Kokushi agyo:"I, p. 50. For Blue Cliff Record
source, see preceding note. Phrases 223, 50, 224, 119, 28, 29 136, 196, 145 in Appendix II.
50.
Hyakunijussoku, case 66, in Hirano, "Daitō Kokushi agyo:"I, p. 55. Chinese source: Blue Cliff
Record, case 66 ( TSD, 48, 196b; Cleary and Cleary, Blue Cliff Record, p. 419). Phrases 225,
219, 176, 24, 150, 180, 160, 182, 226, 66, 18, 159, 181 in Appendix II.
51.
The capping phrases in this section are drawn from Daitō's three written commentaries:
Essential Words for Careful Study (Sanshō goyō), One Hundred Twenty Cases
(Hyakunijussoku), and Capping Phrases on The Blue Cliff Record (Hekigan agyo). The first
of these works is part of the Record of Daitō.

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